Buccaneer (Dane Maddock Adventures) (19 page)

Soon they came upon three tunnels in a row on the north side of the passageway, and Dane halted. Now they had a problem. Did the directions mean
“
take the third north-facing tunnel,
”
or did they mean
“
at the third tunnel, go north?
”
He looked at Bones, who shrugged, then pantomimed a coin toss. Dane grinned, motioned for Bones to stay back, turned, and moved to the third tunnel.

He inched forward, looking for anything that might indicate the presence of a trap. The walls here were irregular, and his light cast deep shadows on the pitted ceiling. He drifted forward, fingertips touching the bottom in case he had to arrest his forward motion on short notice.

He had gone no more than ten feet when he caught sight of a row of dark, jagged rocks looming up above like the teeth of a giant shark. The beam of his light flashed across them and he realized they were not stone at all, but rusted iron points like spear heads. He grabbed onto the nearest outcroppings and pushed, trying to shove himself out from under the spikes.

One of his handholds was solid, but the other gave way, rotating forward with an audible clack. He yanked his hands back and twisted as the iron spikes crashed down. One grazed his forearm, tearing his suit and slicing through flesh. He was scarcely aware of the pain. Instead, he was imagining what would have happened had he been even a moment slower in getting out of the way. Being pinned to the bottom of the tunnel for eternity was not his idea of fun.

He felt a hand on his ankle and looked back to see Bones behind him. He gave his friend a thumbs up and crooked his finger toward the second tunnel; the one he
’
d passed up. Bones nodded and retreated from the passageway.

Dane was about to follow when he had an idea. He took hold of the lever he had first mistaken for a stone, and pulled back on it. With a hollow grinding sound, the spikes slowly retracted into the ceiling. No need to narrow the choices for anyone who might follow behind.

The other tunnel, the one he
’
d bypassed, looped around and led south. This, Dane
’
s instincts told him, was the direction in which the passage lay. Minutes later, they emerged in an underground cavern. As they shone their lights around, his heart lurched.

This was no simple underwater cave
—
it was a chamber of some sort. The walls on either side were carved with scenes of knights in action, and the vaulted ceiling was supported by ornate
columns
. Dane had the feeling he
’
d seen carvings like this before, or, at least, carvings much like these.

Against the opposite wall, three steps led up to a small altar, behind which, six crosses in circles formed a larger cross on the wall itself.

Bones tapped him on the arm and directed his attention to the center of the floor. Bones
’
light illuminated a great seal, ten feet across, showing a temple and encircled by the words
“
Cristi de Templo.
”
Now he understood.

The seal was one of the ancient symbols of the Knights Templar!

Bones shook his head, and Dane knew what his friend was trying to say:
No freaking way!

Dane had to agree. He and Bones took out their digital underwater cameras and quickly took pictures of this strange room. As he worked, Dane could not help but wonder what was the purpose of this place? It was reminiscent of a traditional Templar church. Had it been a center of worship which had to be abandoned when it flooded? But that didn
’
t make sense. There was no evidence that the Templars had ever lived here. Why build a church on the other side of
the Atlantic? And how did the Money P
it fit in?

And then it hit him. There was another direction they had yet to follow.

Upper shaft.

Amazing as it was, this chamber was not the end of the journey. But there were no shafts leading out, save for the one through which they
’
d entered. Where to go now? Beneath the seal? That wouldn
’
t make sense.

He took another look around, searching for a clue. He looked at the walls, the columns, the altar, the cross...

The cross!

The circles that formed it were very much like the stone seal that blocked the entrance to the secret passageway. Furthermore, it was laid out in exactly the same proportions as the Oak Island Cross! He signaled for Bones to follow and swam to the uppermost circle.

Bones clearly understood what Dane was thinking because he immediately set his fingers into the grooved edge of the cross and turned. The circle spun but
, this time, did not come free. Instead, it
rolled sideways into the wall, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.

Dane and Bones exchanged glances. He imagined they were thinking the same thing.
What if it closes behind us... or on us?
Nothing they could do about it. He shrugged and entered the tunnel.

There was no sign of them. Fisher cursed the minutes they had wasted getting prepped for the dive. Worse was Locke
’
s ire at Fisher letting someone slip past him and into the swamp. He knew it would do no good to point out that the sheriff had been guarding the swamp, with
more of
his own people anchored just offshore, so he held his tongue. The only thing that would make this right would be for him to find the intruder, or intruders, and take care of the situation.

He held his pneumatic speargun at the ready. Thirty centimeters long, it could be carried in a holster and fired double-barbed steel shafts with deadly power and accuracy at short range. It could not be purchased on the open market, for it was not made for fishing, but for killing. He swam with reckless abandon, eager to put his weapon to good use. Behind him, Baxter, Penn, and Hartley followed, all armed and ready.

They came to a place where the tunnel split into three. He made a quick signal and the divers fanned out. Hartley shot up the left passage. He was, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of their group. He was always spouting his theory that Francis Bacon was the true author of Shakespeare
’
s plays, and the proof lay hidden beneath Oak Island. Baxter, a tall, lean fellow took the narrow shaft in front of them, and Penn took the one on the right.

Hartley was the first to return, shaking his head and making a dismissive gesture. One dead end.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a dull rumble sounded from the passage in front of them, and a cloud of debris spewed forth. Fisher didn
’
t need to look in order to know what happened, but he had be sure.

Twenty meters down, the tunnel ended in a heap of rubble. Only Baxter
’
s foot, swim fin dangling from it, jutted out.
Fisher
reached out and gave the foot a squeeze, but no response.
Baxter
was gone.
His
mood grew blacker at the loss of a good fighter, even if the man did crap on a bit too much about how much he loved Russell Crowe movies.

Retreating from the cave-in, he and Hartley took the tunnel Penn had scouted
. They caught up with her at
another split.
Here
, one tunnel went up, the other down. Hartley took the upper passageway, this time with a touch more caution after Baxter
’
s accident. Penn took a similar approach to the lower tunnel.

Seconds stretched into eternity as Fisher fretted over their slow progress. And what if their quarry had gone down the passageway that was now caved in? What if they found a way out on the other side? He was just ruminating on this new, unhappy thought, when he heard a sound like a bowling ball rolling down the lane. The sound grew louder and, with a thud, a massive stone ball lodged in the entrance of the passage Hartley had taken. Fisher tried with all his might to dislodge it, but the rock held fast. He thought of Hartley trapped in the tunnel, and hoped there was a way out on the other side.

His heart beat like a snare drum and the blood coursing through his veins set up a roar like a hurricane in his ears.  Now he knew the truth. What happened to Baxter had not been an accident. This place was a death trap, and he had no choice but to try and make it through.

Once again, he followed behind Penn. The woman was a zealot, perhaps a bit too blindly devoted to Morgan, though he
’
d never say that aloud, but she
either
had good instincts, or was very lucky. Perhaps her good fortune would help them carry the day.

This passageway took him round in a descending series of circles before ending at a juncture where a single
tunnel
broke to the right. He frowned. Penn should have stopped here and waited for him, but she was nowhere to be seen. He decided to continue along the main tunnel a little farther, eyes peeled for traps. A bit farther down, he came upon a series of shafts leading off from the main tunnel. No sign of Penn. He was about to go back and investigate the first tunnel he
’
d passed when something caught his eye
—
a trickle of something dark drifting out of the last shaft. Heart sinking, he went to investigate. Two meters down the shaft, he found Penn.

She lay pinned on the floor by thick iron spikes. Her arms and legs
were contorted in a grotesque tableau
. She had lost her mask, and her eyes stared blankly upward, her face
frozen in a mask of
agony
.

A black rage descended on Fisher. He no longer cared for booby traps, treasure, or Locke
’
s wrath. He wanted revenge.

This tunnel opened into a smaller chamber, circular, like a turret. A double-line of repeated symbols spiraled down from the peak of the domed ceiling, where an odd, wedge-shaped pattern was carved,
running all the way down
to the floor. The seal at the center of this room showed two knights riding a single horse
—
another Templar seal. To their left was the trap that had injured Matt
’
s arm. To their right stood another stone altar, but this one was not empty.

A wooden casket, two feet long
, sat atop the altar. As Dane swam closer, he could see it was coated with some sort of resin that gave it a glossy sheen and had protected it from who knew how many years of immersion. Like many ancient caskets, it was shaped like a split log: wide and flat at the bottom, rounded on the top half. Its hinged lid appeared to be sealed with lead.

Dane reached out and gently took hold of it, fearing all the while that the wood would crumble at his touch. It did not. Emboldened, he lifted it. It was deceptively heavy. Either the casket was lined with lead, its contents were extremely heavy, or both.

Despite the dim light and the dive mask, he could see excitement shining in Bones
’
eyes. They were about to solve the riddle of Oak Island. He put the casket in a mesh bag and hooked it to his belt as an added precaution, though he
’
d have to carry it. Now, to get out of here unseen and unscathed.

He turned to make for the exit tunnel, hoping it had not closed behind them, when a beam of light sliced through the water. Someone had caught up with them.

Dane and Bones drew their Recon knives, extinguished their dive lights, and moved to either side of the passageway that led back to the underground church. Any small ember of hope that the unseen person did not know they were there was doused when something silver flashed through the water and embedded in the limestone wall. Whoever was out there had a spear gun.

Their only hope was to take their pursuer unaware as he entered the chamber. Of course, they
’
d need
to be quick and luck would
have
to be on their side. The intruder
’
s dive light cast a faint glow
—
just enough that Dane could see Bones swim to a spot above the passageway and cling to the wall Spider-Man style. Good thinking. Their adversary was likely to to the sides and down before looking up; an instinct honed by life outside the water.

They waited in near-darkness and absolute silence. Energy coursed through Dane, every nerve on edge. It was amazing how alive he felt when possible death was near. Danger brought everything into focus.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Nothing. The guy was waiting for them to make a move, and who could blame him? He had the projectile weapon and the full length of the tunnel to take shots at them. It would be like a carnival game to him
—
Dane and Bones were sitting ducks.

Dane glanced up at Bones who shook his head and tapped his pressure gauge. Their supply of air was limited. Right now they had sufficient reserves, but it wouldn
’
t last forever, and only a fool let his tank get close to empty. They were screwed.