“Yes.”
“So the kitchen would be located roughly above us?”
“Yes, that would be right. What are you driving at?”
Summer rose to her feet and circled the room, studying the walls behind the storage boxes with her cell-phone light. She slowly made her way to the rear of the pantry, examining a bank of four wooden cabinet doors now visible behind a stack of boxes. She passed the phone to Julie to hold for her.
“If you were Kitchener’s chef and you needed a sack of flour from the pantry, would you go lugging it through the house?” she asked, moving the stack of boxes aside. Then she reached up to the top two cabinet doors and tried to open them. But they were sealed shut.
“They’re faux doors,” Julie said, holding up the light while Summer dug her nails under the doors’ edges to no avail. “Try the bottom doors.”
Julie shoved a box on the floor aside so that Summer could try the lower doors. Tugging at the edges, she was surprised when both doors flew open effortlessly. Behind them appeared to be an empty black compartment.
“Move the light in,” Summer requested.
Julie shoved the cell phone past the doors, illuminating a large tray at the base of the compartment that was affixed to a rear rack. A pulley wheel was visible to one side with a tight loop of rope around it that then ascended past the upper cabinet. Julie turned the cell light upward, revealing a long vertical shaft.
“It’s a dumbwaiter,” Julie said. “Why, of course. How did you know?”
Summer shrugged her shoulders. “A lifelong aversion to doing things the hard way, I suppose.”
She surveyed the shelf for a moment. “It’s a little tight, but I think it will suffice as an elevator. I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow that light back.”
“You can’t go up that thing,” Julie said. “You’ll break your neck.”
“No worries. I think I can just fit.”
Summer took the cell phone and corkscrewed her long legs into the opening, then wormed the rest of her body in until she sat cross-legged on the tray. A pair of frayed ropes dangled beside the pulley used to hoist the tray, but she dared not test her weight on them. Placing the phone in her lap, she instead surveyed a thin link of bicycle chain that spooled around the actual pulley. She then leaned her head back into the pantry.
“Wish me luck. Hopefully I’ll meet you at the front door in five minutes,” she told Julie.
“Do be careful.”
Summer grabbed the chain with both hands and pulled down hard. The tray immediately rose off its base, and Summer rose up into the chute. Julie quickly grabbed a boxful of clothes and emptied it on the base as a cushion, should Summer lose her grip and fall.
But the athletic young oceanographer didn’t fall. Summer was able to pull herself up ten feet before her hands and arm muscles began to weaken. She then found she could tilt the tray forward and wedge her feet against one side of the chute while pressing her back against the opposite side. Supporting her weight in this manner, she could temporarily free her hands from the biting edge of the pulley chain. Resting a few minutes, she then pulled herself up several more feet before pausing again.
She spotted the upper pulley just a few feet above her head and made one more effort to rise to the top. With her hands and arms aching, she muscled herself even with the pulley, scrunching her head beneath the top of the chute. The back side of a cabinet door appeared in front of her, and she quickly pushed on it with her feet. But the door didn’t budge.
She could feel her arms weakening as she pushed with her feet again, this time detecting a hairline movement to the door. She was positioned too high and close to the pulley to wedge herself against the chute for relief and she could feel her hold on the chain waning. Realizing she was seconds from losing her grip, she pushed herself backward as far as she could, then rocketed forward, jamming her feet against the door with all her might.
She heard a horrendous crash as the cabinet door burst open, sending a wave of bright light into the cavernous chute. Summer was momentarily blinded by the sudden change in light as she slid through the door, letting go of the chain as her momentum carried her across a smoothly polished surface.
Her vision clearing, she found herself lying on a large teak buffet. It sat in a small but brightly lit lounge that had been constructed from an original section of the manor’s kitchen. Summer was startled to see a half dozen elderly couples seated around the room having tea. They all silently stared at her as if she was an alien from Ursa Minor.
Slowly sliding off the buffet and onto her feet, she surveyed the source of the loud crash. Scattered about the floor were spoons, teacups, and saucers from a large formal tea set that had been sent flying when she kicked open the door.
Summer ruefully brushed herself off, hiding her grease-stained hands as she smiled at the collected gawkers.
“I do hate to miss teatime,” she said apologetically, then quickly scurried from the room.
She ran into Aldrich in the hall as he rushed toward the commotion and redirected him to help Julie. Together, they dashed down the stairs and unlocked the pantry door. A relieved Julie smiled at the sight of Summer.
“I heard a terrible crash. Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Summer grinned, “but I might owe Aldrich a new tea set.”
“Poppycock!” the old man grunted. “Now, tell me again who locked you in here.”
Julie described Bannister and his motorcycle attire.
“Sounds like that fellow Baker,” Aldrich said. “Checked out this morning.”
“What do you know of him?” Summer asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid. Said he was a writer living in London who was down for a golf holiday. But I vaguely remember him visiting before, must be four or five years ago. I recall letting him into the archives. He’s quite knowledgeable about the Earl. In fact, he was the one who also inquired about Emily.”
Julie and Summer looked at each other knowingly, then Summer stepped back into the pantry.
“Would you like me to call the police?” Aldrich asked.
Julie thought for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose that will be necessary. He has what he came looking for, so I don’t think he’ll be bothering us again. Besides, I’m sure he gave you a phony name and address in London.”
“He’s going to get more than a piece of my mind if he shows up here again,” Aldrich huffed. “You poor dears. Please, come upstairs and have some tea.”
“Thank you, Aldrich. We’ll be right along.”
As Aldrich strutted off, Julie sat down on a Queen Anne bench beside some covered furniture and breathed heavily. Summer exited the pantry a second later, noting a paleness in Julie’s face.
“You all right?” Summer asked.
“Yes. Didn’t want to admit it, but I am a bit claustrophobic. I don’t care to experience that feeling again anytime soon.”
Summer turned and closed the heavy door behind her.
“No need for either of us to set foot in there again,” she said. “Where’s Aldrich?”
“He went upstairs to make us some tea.”
“I hope he can find some cups.”
Julie shook her head with a disappointed grimace.
“I can’t believe it. We had the clue to Kitchener’s death right in our hands and it was plucked away by that thief before we had the chance to figure out what it all meant.”
“Don’t look so depressed. All is not lost,” Summer replied consolingly.
“But we have so little left to go on. We’ll probably never find out the true meaning of the Manifest.”
“To quote Aldrich, poppycock,” Summer replied. “We’ve still got Sally,” she added, holding up the doll.
“What good is that?”
“Well, our friend may have stolen the left leg, but we’ve still got the right.”
She held the flayed doll toward Julie, yanking away a small piece of cotton stuffing. Peering inside, the historian could make out the tip of yet another scroll of paper, this one in the right leg.
She said nothing, her eyes ablaze, as Summer gently worked the object free from the doll’s interior. As Summer laid it on the bench and carefully unrolled it, they could both see that it was not a sheet of parchment or papyrus like the other scroll. Instead, it was simply a typewritten letter, with the heading “University of Cambridge Archaeology Department” emblazoned across the top.
32
D
IVERS ARE STILL DOWN,” GUNN ANNOUNCED.
Standing on the bridge of the
Aegean Explorer
, he peered through a pair of binoculars at an empty Zodiac tied to a drop line that ran down to the Ottoman shipwreck. Every few seconds, he spotted a dual set of air bubbles breaking the surface a few feet from the buoyed line. Gunn swung the glasses past the Zodiac, refocusing the lenses on the large blue Italian yacht that was stationed close by. He noted curiously that its bow was facing him, which put the yacht perpendicular to the current. A partial glimpse of the rear deck showed some men scurrying about in activity, but Gunn’s view was quickly obscured by the vessel’s superstructure.
“Our nosy friend is still perusing the neighborhood,” he said.
“The
Sultana
?” Pitt said, having earlier deciphered the Italian yacht’s name.
“Yes. Looks like she’s crept a little closer to the wreck site.”
Pitt looked up from the chart table, where he was examining some documents.
“He must be rather hard up for entertainment.”
“I can’t figure out what he’s up to,” Gunn said, setting down the binoculars. “He’s got his side thrusters on, positioning himself crossways to the current.”
“Why don’t you call him on the radio and ask him?”
“The captain tried a number of friendly calls last night. Couldn’t even get a response.”
Gunn stepped over and took a seat at the table opposite Pitt. Lying on the table were two tiny ceramic canisters that had been recovered from the wreck site. Pitt was comparing the items with an archaeological assessment of a merchant ship excavated by famed underwater archaeologist George Bass.
“Any luck dating these?” Gunn asked, picking up one of the canisters and eyeing it closely.
“They’re very similar to some pottery found on a merchant ship that sank near Yassi Ada in the fourth century,” Pitt said, showing Gunn a photograph from the report.
“So Al’s Roman crown isn’t a phony?”
“No, it would appear legitimate. We’ve got an Ottoman-era wreck that for some reason is carrying Roman artifacts.”
“A nice find any way you slice it,” Gunn said. “I wonder where the items originated?”
“Dr. Zeibig is assessing some grain samples that were embedded in one of the potsherds, which may indicate the vessel’s point of origin. Of course, if you’d have let us uncover the rest of your monolith, we might already have an answer.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Gunn protested. “That’s my find, and Rod said I could recover it with him on our next dive. You just keep Al away from it. Which reminds me,” he said, looking at his watch. “Iverson and Tang should be back up anytime now.”
“Then I better go rouse Al,” Pitt said, rising from the table. “We’re scheduled for the next dive.”
“I think I saw him napping next to his new toy,” Gunn said.
“Yes, he’s been anxious to test-dive the
Bullet
.”
As Pitt made his way across the bridge, Gunn gave one last warning.
“Now, remember. You two keep your hands off my monolith,” he cried, waving a finger at Pitt as he departed.
Pitt retrieved a dive bag from his cabin, then stepped to the rear deck of the ship. In the shadow of a white, aerodynamically shaped submersible, he found Giordino napping on a rolled-up wet suit. Pitt’s approaching presence was enough to wake Giordino, and he cocked open a lazy eyelid.
“Time for another trip to my soggy royal yacht?” he asked.
“Yes, King Al. We’ve been assigned to examine grid C-2, which appears to be a ballast mound.”
“Ballast? How am I to add to my jewelry collection from the ballast mound?” Sitting up, he began slipping into his wet suit while Pitt unzipped his dive bag and followed suit. A few minutes later, Gunn came rushing up with a concerned look on his face.
“Dirk, the divers were due up ten minutes ago, but they’ve yet to surface.”
“They might be taking a cautious decompression stop,” Giordino suggested.
Pitt gazed toward the empty Zodiac moored a short distance away. Iverson and Tang, the two men in the water, were both environmental scientists who Pitt knew to be experienced divers.
“We’ll take the chase boat and have a look,” Pitt said. “Give us a hand, Rudi.”
Gunn helped lower a small rigid inflatable that was barely big enough to hold both men and their dive gear. Pitt quickly strapped on his tank, mask, and fins as Giordino started the outboard motor and drove them at full throttle toward the Zodiac. There was no sign of the two divers when they pulled alongside the larger inflatable boat.
The chase boat was still slowing when Pitt rolled over the side and into the water. He quickly swam over to the drop line, then descended alongside the rope. He expected to find the two men hanging on to the line ten or twenty feet beneath the surface in decompression, but they were nowhere to be seen. Pitt cleared his ears as he approached the fifty-foot mark, then kicked harder, pushing to reach the bottom. In the depths below, he could faintly make out the yellow aluminum excavation grid pegged into the sandy bottom. He flicked on an underwater flashlight as he approached the base of the drop line, where the visibility dimmed to a greenish murk.
He briefly searched the perimeter around the anchored line, then swam over the grid, following the length of the shipwreck. He hesitated as he crossed over the fourth grid box, noting that there was a large indentation in the sand where Gunn’s beloved stone monolith had previously rested. Scanning ahead, he spotted a blue object near the ballast pile. Thrusting his fins sharply, he quickly kicked over to the prone figure of one of the divers.