who tried to kill me.’
‘Did he now?’ Masters murmured. ‘Not exactly what I’d expect from a priest.’
‘My name is Father Michael Killian, and I am an ordained minister of the Church.’ The man’s voice was rough and hoarse. ‘Whatever I do, I am doing God’s work. I know you,’ he said, looking at Donovan, who was still being held by Bronson. ‘And if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll stop this appalling blasphemy you’ve been planning. That’s what I’ve been sent here to do.’
‘Sent by whom?’ Bronson asked.
‘By God Himself,’ Killian said, pride in his voice. ‘I am His messenger, and His agent.’
‘Gimme a break,’ Masters muttered.
‘This isn’t blasphemy, you lunatic,’ Donovan shouted. ‘This could be the greatest single advance in the history of medicine since the invention of anaesthetics or the discovery of antibiotics.’
‘And it’ll make you a multi-billionaire in the process. But I don’t suppose that’s influenced your decision in any way,’ Killian spat.
Masters looked from one man to the other, almost smiling at the vitriol. ‘Well, it doesn’t look to me like either of you is in any position to do much, one way or the other.’ He paused, then stepped across to the flat wall. ‘Let’s take a look at what we have here. This
Donovan nodded, while Killian struggled furiously against Cross’s iron grip. ‘This is sacrilege, blasphemy.’
‘Can’t be both, can it?’ Masters remarked, studying the wall carefully. ‘Not both at the same time, I mean? And it’s interesting that you and your guys were quite happy to follow us here in that goddamned Hind and try to kill us all, but when it comes to opening up a tomb you come over all Old Testament. Sounds to me like you’re sending out a mixed message there.’
‘Your lives are irrelevant,’ Killian shouted. ‘What you’re trying to do here could damn your immortal soul for all eternity.’
‘That’s the kind of thing I mean,’ Masters said mildly. ‘Definitely Old Testament.’ He turned to Cross. ‘If that idiot says anything else, put a round through his stomach then throw him outside. He’s starting to give me a headache.’
‘Pleasure,’ Cross murmured. He swept Killian’s legs from under him and aimed his pistol downwards. ‘Just give me a reason,’ he said.
‘We think it slides,’ Angela said. She gave Killian a withering glare, then walked across to stand beside Masters. ‘Chris found grooves cut in the floor and ceiling.’ She pointed towards the edge of the stone wall.
‘Got it,’ Masters said. ‘So we need to lever on the left-hand side, I guess, to start it moving.’
‘There’s a crowbar on the floor by the wall,’ Bronson said, not loosening his grip on Donovan’s collar. ‘And if you look in my rucksack, Angela, you’ll find a couple of big screwdrivers as well.’
‘I like a man who comes prepared,’ Masters said, as Angela handed him the bag.
‘We were expecting some kind of tomb,’ she said, ‘not a wall made of solid stone. I don’t know if a crowbar’s going to be enough to shift that.’
‘They must have mounted it on rollers,’ Bronson said. ‘Nothing else makes sense. Once it’s started moving, it should be fairly easy to shift.’
‘Yeah, the trick is gonna be gettin’ it started.’ Masters gestured to Cross. ‘Here, John. You’re stronger than I am. I’ll watch the priest. You wanna try gettin’ this sucker open?’
As Cross picked up the crowbar and started tapping the stone wall, working out where to insert the end of the tool, Bronson looked at the expressions on the faces of the people in the cave. Donovan was quivering with what he guessed was a mixture of fury and anticipation, while Killian glowered with impotent anger against the far wall. Between them, Masters and Angela stood together, studying the stone wall with cool appraisal.
‘There’s a kind of notch just here,’ Cross said. ‘Reckon I can just about get the end of the wrecking bar into it.’
There was a metallic scraping sound as he rammed the end of the crowbar into the narrow gap he’d found in the rock, then a deep grunt as he heaved on the end of the tool.
‘Nothing,’ Cross said. ‘No movement at all. You sure there’s no lock or anything, nothing jamming it?’
‘There were some stones wedged under the right-hand side,’ Bronson offered, ‘but I thought I’d shifted all of them.’
Masters turned to look at Bronson. ‘Keep that pistol, but I think you might as well turn Donovan loose. He won’t cause you any trouble.’
Bronson released his grip gratefully, flexed his fingers and stood up. He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, then moved forward to stand beside Angela.
‘Just thinking about it from a mechanical point of view,’ he said, ‘it would make sense if they had done something else to lock the door in place. The last thing they would want would be for an earthquake to shake it open.’
He leaned forward and spent a few minutes running the tips of his fingers over the old stone. On the right- hand side of the door he felt something, and stepped back to see it from a distance.
‘Yes, that could be it,’ he murmured, pointing at a roughly oval-shaped mark on the stone about six feet off the ground. ‘That could be the end of a stone wedge, driven right through the door and then trimmed off flat on this side. It seems to be made of the same stone as the door itself, but the grain, or whatever the correct term is for the marks inside rock, goes the wrong way.’
He picked up the hammer and chisel, strode across to the stone wall, placed the end of the chisel against the oval mark and smashed the hammer on to it. Stone chips flew. He repeated the operation, and again bits of stone broke off and flew all around him. He stopped briefly and peered at the wall.
‘I’ve broken the end off,’ he said, ‘but now I can see that a hole was cut through the stone and this wedge driven into it.’
Bronson repositioned the chisel in the centre of the mark and hit it again. This time, very few chips of stone flew out, but the whole lump of stone that had been driven into the hole moved slightly inwards.
‘That’s more like it!’ he said triumphantly. He drew back the hammer and hit it again.
The chisel travelled almost all the way through the hole as the stone wedge vanished from sight. There was a hollow thud as it landed on the floor of the cave somewhere on the inside of the stone door.
‘Brilliant, Chris,’ Angela said, as he stepped back.
‘That looks like another one,’ Masters said, pointing at a spot about three feet off the ground and directly below the hole where Bronson had shifted the first stone wedge.
‘I’ll do it,’ Cross said, taking the hammer and chisel.
Bronson moved back to where Angela stood watching, when a sudden thought occurred to him.
‘Just a moment.’ He picked up his rucksack and pulled out a torch then walked across to the hole he’d revealed and shone the light inside the hidden chamber.
‘What can you see?’ Angela demanded.
‘Nothing very much,’ Bronson replied, ‘except maybe the stone of the wall opposite. But that wasn’t what I was looking for.’
‘So what were you checking out?’ Masters asked.
‘The hole itself,’ Bronson replied, turning away from the wall. ‘It’s tapered. It’s wider on the inside than the outside of the door.’
‘So?’ Masters asked.
But Angela had already grasped what he meant. ‘So you mean the stone wedges—’
‘Exactly,’ Bronson said. ‘The holes taper from the inside to the outside, so they must have been put in place from within the tomb itself. Unless there’s another way out of there, whoever drove those wedges into place is still in there, on the other side of that wall.’
