The Moses Stone (35 page)
“Wow,” Bronson said. “Three thousand years ago—that’s pretty old. And I guess you’re going to insist on exploring it thoroughly.” He looked without enthusiasm at the gaping entrance to the spring. “Let’s get on with it. You said it’ll be wet?”
“That’s why we’re wearing what we’re wearing. This isn’t just your usual damp tunnel. This is actually an aqueduct. At best we’ll have to wade, and if it’s really deep we might even have to swim.”
“Terrific,” Bronson muttered, and started toward the steps.
They walked down the stone stairs and passed under the arch, then stopped for a few seconds to let their eyes grow accustomed to the dark.
“It looks deep,” Bronson said, staring at the water, which appeared almost black in the gloomy interior. “And cold,” he added.
He undid the waterproof bag and took out two flashlights. He checked that both worked properly, then handed one to Angela and resealed the bag, which still held the spare batteries.
“I hope the guy in the shop was right when he said these flashlights were waterproof as well,” he said.
“As long as one of them works, we’ll be fine. There aren’t any turnings, so all we have to do is keep walking until we get to the other end.”
“Just remind me what you think we might find down here.”
“Right. This tunnel was already almost eight hundred years old when the Sicarii were looking for a place to hide the Silver Scroll,” Angela said. “I think the reference in the clay tablets to a cistern could mean they hid it down here. So we’ll be looking for any cracks in the rock that could conceal something, or any cavities that could have been chipped out by them. If it is somewhere in this tunnel, I’m hoping that the archaeologists might have missed it, because everybody believes that this tunnel is just an aqueduct, nothing more. As far as I know, nobody has ever done a serious search for hidden relics down here, because nobody in their right mind would hide anything in a well or cistern.”
“Except that we know they did.”
“Precisely.” Angela hesitated. “This was my idea, so do you want me to go first?”
Bronson put his hand on her shoulder, immediately remembering that she’d never been fond of dark and confined spaces. “No, I will,” he said, switching on his flashlight and stepping forward into the dark water.
“Watch your head,” Angela said, following close behind him. “The lowest roof height is under five feet.”
Within a few steps they were both in water—cold water—up to their knees. Their flashlights illuminated walls and ceiling of gray-brown rock, peppered with thousands of small white spots.
“They’re the marks left by the picks and other tools when King Hezekiah’s men dug this tunnel,” Angela explained.
“You’re right. This would have been a mammoth undertaking,” Bronson said, his voice echoing slightly as they moved deeper into the darkness.
The light from his flashlight suddenly showed that the tunnel branched to the left, the ceiling height dropping steadily. He turned that way, crouching down and shining his flashlight upward. The short tunnel ended abruptly, but above them was an opening in the ceiling. Bronson stopped and moved slightly to one side so that Angela could crouch beside him.
“What’s that?” he asked. “It looks like it could be a tunnel or shaft going vertically upward.”
“That’s exactly what it is. What you’re looking at is the bottom of Warren’s Shaft. Up there is where the inhabitants of Jerusalem would have come with their buckets to collect water. They’d have lowered them down that shaft.”
Bronson could feel his heart thumping with anticipation as they shone their flashlights up at the stone walls above them. But there were no signs of any possible hiding places.
“I’d have been very surprised if there was anything up there,” Angela said. “This area and that shaft have been thoroughly explored from both directions. If the scroll is somewhere in here, it won’t be anywhere as obvious as that.”
They backed out and moved on, the water level and the height and width of the tunnel varying considerably as they progressed. It was very cold and very dark, and both of them were already shivering, their clothes soaked through. Instead of the light shorts and T-shirts they were wearing, Bronson realized they’d have been better advised to bring wetsuits or even thigh waders. They walked on, the temperature dropping still further and the water becoming deeper. As his shivering increased, Bronson began to wonder just how long either of them would be able to continue.
62
“Are you sure this is the place?” Dexter asked, the beam of his flashlight playing over the walls of the tunnel.
All three men were standing in water up to their thighs, their shorts and the lower parts of their shirts soaked. So far they’d found nothing at all.
“I keep telling you that I don’t know,” Baverstock said, his voice angry. “This was my best guess, based on the mention of a cistern in the clay tablets. Hezekiah’s Tunnel was the most important water source the people of Jerusalem had, so logically it was certainly somewhere we had to check. And it’s close enough to the Temple Mount to match the ‘end of days’ reference as well.”
“The trouble is that this is just a tunnel hacked out of the rock,” Dexter said. “There are virtually no hiding places anywhere in it, as far as I can see.”
“Well, we certainly won’t find anything if we just stand here talking,” Baverstock growled. “Keep moving, and keep looking. I only want to do this once.”
Bronson and Angela had been walking for perhaps twenty-five minutes when their flashlights picked out an almost pagoda-shaped and fairly low section of the roof, the rock in the center forming a graceful downward curve while the edges extended slightly upward. That section of the tunnel was fairly wide.
“This is the meeting point,” Angela said. “This is where the two tunneling crews met back in 701 BC.”
“That’s amazing,” Bronson said, “especially when you think how easily they could have missed each other. Look at the technology they had to use in the Channel Tunnel to make sure both teams arrived at the same place at the same time.”
They moved on, and a few moments later Bronson stopped again.
“There’s another really short tunnel here,” he said. “It’s only a few feet long.”
“There are two of these,” Angela told him. “It looks as if they were started by the workmen who were digging toward the spring, but then they must have realized they were heading in the wrong direction and abandoned them.”
They checked every inch of the false tunnel, above and below the water level, then carried on to the second one, where they repeated the process.
“The walls and roof are pretty rough in places, but I’ve not noticed anything that could be a hiding place for a box of matches, far less a two-foot-long scroll,” Bronson said. “And I assume what we’re looking for would be at least that sort of size?”
“Probably, maybe even bigger than that.” Angela sounded fed up. “I still think this was the most likely place for them to have hidden it, but maybe I misread the clues. Anyway, we’re here now, so let’s keep looking.”
A few minutes later, as they approached the Pool of Siloam and the ceiling height rose considerably, Bronson spotted a dark oval in the wall high above them.
“That’s worth a look,” he said, moving his flashlight around to try to illuminate the opening better. “I think that’s a cavity.”
Angela peered up as well. “You could be right,” she said, sounding more hopeful.
Bronson found a small ledge and carefully placed his flashlight on that to provide some light. “I reckon it’s about ten feet up,” he said. “If you stand on my shoulders you should be able to reach inside it.”
Angela switched off her own flashlight and tucked it inside the pocket of her shorts.
Bronson cupped his hands together. Angela put her foot in the stirrup he’d formed, rested her back against the wall of the tunnel and lifted herself up. As she placed her feet on his shoulders, Bronson moved slightly forward and braced his arms against both sides of the narrow tunnel.
“Can you reach it?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m just about to feel inside.” There was a pause, and then Angela’s voice, high and breathy with excitement, announced: “There’s something here!”
63
“Can you hear voices in front of us?” Dexter asked.
Baverstock was dismissive. “Yes, but don’t worry about it. A lot of tourists come here to do this walk. They think it gets them closer to God. Just keep looking.”
“I won’t be sorry to get out of here,” Hoxton muttered. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Bronson could feel Angela’s feet moving slightly on his shoulders as she stretched up to reach into the cavity.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Something round and solid. Hang on. I’ll try to pull it out.”
She reached up again and tugged at the object her fingers had found. There was a scraping sound, and then she lost her grip on it. Something tumbled down, clattering against the rock wall, and fell with a splash into the water.
“Oh, damn it.”
Less than twenty yards behind them, Tony Baverstock stopped dead and stood in absolute silence, listening. Then he turned to Hoxton.
“I recognize that voice,” he whispered. “That’s Angela Lewis, which means the man with her is probably her ex-husband. These are the two I told you about. That means she’s following the same trail we are. She’s been looking at the same clues as I have, and she must have come to the same conclusion.”
“But has she found the Silver Scroll?” Hoxton asked. “That’s all that matters.”
“I don’t know,” Baverstock said, “but we’d better get up there and find out.”
Without a word, Hoxton and Dexter moved forward, heading down the tunnel toward the sound of the two voices, Hoxton pulling a small semi-automatic pistol from his pocket as he did so.
“Was that it, Angela?” Bronson asked.
“It was definitely something. Hang on—let me just check and see if there’s anything else in the hole.” She paused, then added: “No, and it isn’t really a cavity, more like a small ledge.”
Quickly, she climbed down off Bronson’s shoulders and back onto the floor of the tunnel.
“It landed just about there,” Bronson said, shining his flashlight at the water.
“Good,” a new voice said, and two flashlights snapped into life, their beams instantly dazzling Bronson and Angela.
“Who the hell are you?” Angela demanded.
Nobody responded immediately, but Bronson heard the unmistakable snicking sound as the slide of an automatic pistol was pulled back to chamber a round.
“Get behind me, Angela,” he said.
“Very noble,” the voice mocked. “But if you don’t get the hell out of here right now, you’ll both be dead. You’ve got five seconds.”
“We—” Angela said, then stopped talking as Bronson grabbed her arm and began pulling her down the tunnel.
“Come on, Angela,” Bronson said. “We’re out of here.”
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