Cassie Motram handed her husband a large malt whisky when he came in and watched the look of appreciation appear on his face as he settled down in a chair and kicked off his shoes. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘I could tell you but I’d have to kill you.’ Motram took another sip.
‘Do you want any dinner or not?’
‘Ah, my Achilles heel.’ Motram grinned. ‘They’ve got a leukaemia patient who needs a bone marrow transplant, a Saudi billionaire by the sound of it. They’ve found a donor for him and want me to check out his suitability.’
‘Is that all?’ Cassie sounded disappointed. ‘Do we know anything about this Saudi billionaire?’
Motram shook his head. ‘Nothing at all apart from the fact that he’s to be referred to as Patient X, although I suspect Prince X might be a better bet judging by the money the foundation have been throwing around. Probably goes to sleep to the sound of oil slurping into barrels.’
‘Will you have to go back to London?’
‘I don’t think so. I set up some basic tests in the hospital lab — their technicians can send the data to me when they have the results — and the more complicated things I’ll do in the lab up here on the samples I brought back with me. When I’ve collated everything, I’ll phone in all the results along with my conclusions and that’ll be an end to it. Money for old rope.’
‘So, it’ll be back to Black Death now?’
‘You bet,’ said Motram with a grin.
EIGHT
The sun shone brightly as John Motram drove north into the Scottish Borders: it matched his sunny mood. He liked the rolling hills and valleys of the border country, which always seemed so calm and peaceful despite their bloody history of almost continual conflict between England and Scotland down through the centuries. He slowed as he crossed the River Tweed, perhaps one of the most famous salmon rivers in the world, and enjoyed the sight of the sun playing on its rippled surface for a few moments before driving on.
The first thing he saw in the abbey car park was a commercial vehicle with Maxton Geo-Survey written in red along its white side. A cartoon of a drilling rig at one end emphasised the point. Two men in company overalls were standing beside the vehicle; they were talking to a man in a suit who was carrying a clipboard.
‘Alan Blackstone, Historic Scotland,’ said Clipboard Man as Motram parked his car beside them and got out.
‘You chaps are on the ball,’ said Motram, stretching his limbs after the long drive and then looking at his watch. It was five to nine.
‘It’s never a problem to get up and out on a day like this,’ said Blackstone, glancing up at the sky. This brought smiles of agreement from the two Maxton men, who introduced themselves as Les Smith and Tony Fielding.
‘Tell you what,’ said Motram, looking over his shoulder at the Dryburgh Abbey Hotel, which stood adjacent to the abbey, ‘why don’t we get ourselves some coffee and have a talk about what we’re going to do?’
When the coffee arrived, Motram spread a modern-day plan of the abbey ruins out on the table and told the others about his findings. ‘I think the chamber lies under the ground approximately here,’ he said, tracing a rectangle with the end of his pen out from the east wall of the abbey, using the three windows of the chapter house as a starting point. ‘I don’t know just how far out it stretches, but hopefully that’s something you chaps can determine?’
‘We certainly can,’ Fielding assured him.
‘Depending on what you guys come up with, we can perhaps discuss with Alan here whether or not an excavation might be in order and whether we approach from the east end or try to come in from the side if the end should prove too near the trees.’ Motram looked to the man from Historic Scotland.
‘Sounds good,’ said Blackstone. ‘It’s a big plus having the chamber outside the perimeter of the abbey. That being the case, there shouldn’t be any objection from us, providing, of course, it doesn’t turn out to be a very short chamber, very close to the back wall of the chapter house; we couldn’t risk having the foundations undermined.’
‘I hadn’t even considered that,’ Motram confessed. ‘It shouldn’t be that short if it’s holding sixteen bodies, but I suppose there’s only one way to find out…’
Fielding and Smith unloaded their equipment and Motram and Blackstone followed along behind as the electric-powered transporter vehicle — a sort of motorised trolley — moved everything along parallel to the north wall of the abbey before turning south and parking outside the windows of the chapter house. ‘About here?’ Fielding asked.
Motram nodded, emphasising with his right hand where he thought the hidden chamber might be. ‘Assuming the entry to it was from here,’ he indicated a point on the abbey wall directly below the chapter house windows, ‘and there were, say, ten steps down to it to give some ceiling height, I reckon about ten to fifteen feet below where we’re standing now.’
Smith and Fielding started up their machine and began a slow sweep of the ground. Motram watched their every move with bated breath while Blackstone turned away to examine the condition of the stone along the base of the chapter house wall.
Fielding removed his earphones and pointed to something on a graphic readout to his colleague before turning to Motram and saying. ‘You’re right. There’s no doubt about it… there’s a hollow space down there.’
‘Brilliant! Can you tell how far out it stretches?’ Motram asked, knowing that a great deal was riding on the answer to his question.
The machine resumed its sweep, stopping when Fielding and Smith were about ten metres east of the abbey wall. ‘This seems to be the end of it here,’ said Fielding.
‘Great,’ said Motram, relieved that the possibility of the chamber’s turning out to be a sort of cupboard in the wall that went down rather than out had been removed. He walked over to join the two men and noted that the nearest tree was only about two metres away. He turned to Blackstone. ‘Too close for an end approach, do you think?’
‘I think so,’ said Blackstone. ‘Apart from anything else, the roots of these trees must be quite extensive. In fact I’d be surprised if they hadn’t invaded your chamber over the years — maybe taken it over completely.’
‘Not a happy thought,’ murmured Motram, inwardly agreeing that Blackstone had a point. ‘What do you think about a side approach?’
Blackstone nodded thoughtfully before saying, ‘Let’s not rush things. Let’s wait until the chaps have finished mapping the whole thing out.’ He led the way to a bench on the grassy area beside the abbey cloisters where they sat in the sun and exchanged bits and pieces of information about their respective careers until the survey was finished and Fielding came to join them with a printout in his hand.
‘Here we are,’ he said with a smile. ‘More or less what you thought, an underground chamber about ten metres long by three metres wide and about four metres down. There’s a blip on the north side — some kind of alcove cut in the wall — but the south wall is smooth all the way along.’
‘Then we should approach from the south side, if you’re agreeable?’ said Motram, turning to Blackstone. ‘About halfway along, do you think?’
Blackstone nodded, but added, ‘Maybe an extra metre out from the wall, if you don’t mind. If it’s a choice between damaging tree roots and undermining the chapter house wall… let’s err on the side of keeping me in a job.’
‘Point taken,’ smiled Motram. ‘Wonderful. Look, I have to go to London early next week but I’ll make arrangements before I go for all the gear we’ll need. We can start work as soon as I get back if that’s okay with you?’
With everyone in agreement Motram said, ‘I can’t tell you how much this means to me.’
‘I think we sort of guessed,’ said Fielding to the amusement of the others.
‘Lunch is on me!’ said Motram.
