The Simeon Chamber (33 page)

The state gardeners had no reason to go near it since the enclosure was not on state lands, and the corporation had no interest in keeping it up.”

“Well it’s probably gonna be a dog to find, if it’s …”

“Shhh.” Sam held a single forefinger to his lips. Outside the hut were sounds of footsteps on the dry grass. Bogardus moved to the wall of the hut and, hunching low, peered around the peeling bark of the log wall. He emitted a deep sigh as he stared at the broad flank and brilliant stripes of an adult zebra grazing under a scrub oak a few feet away. The animal gazed back at him and with an air of nonchalance resumed its search for the green morsels of tender grass close to the ground.

Sam looked at Nick and shook his head.

“I can do without any more of that.” The veins in his neck were pounding and he could feel the surge of adrenaline race through his body.

He reached down and folded the map, 415

pushing it back into his pocket. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Let’s rest a couple more minutes.”

Sam ignored the plea as he led the way out of the hut and up the steep hill toward the gully. They climbed for another forty minutes, stopping periodically to check the paved road each time before crossing. The road cut a series of switchbacks across their course of travel and presented bare spots in the otherwise lush foliage that protected them from the searching eyes of any security guards at the castle. The white twin towers of La Casa Grande loomed overhead and seemed to grow larger and more ominous each time they left the cover of the trees. Except for a few lights on the esplanade below the castle, the great house was dark, lit only by the shimmering light of a half-moon that was beginning to rise.

Sam plunged on, moving hand over foot in a near crawl, clawing his way breathlessly through a thicket of dense foliage on the side of the steep hill. After traversing ten or fifteen feet up the hill he suddenly found himself ensnared in a tangle of rose thorns. Carefully, he lifted the rose branches from the arm of his jacket and his pants, where the razor-sharp thorns clung, pricking and scratching his skin. He could hear Nick thrashing in the brush on the steep hill below him and a second later saw the bearded, round red face of his friend poke through the underbrush.

“Damn it, Bogardus. If I’d known you wanted to use my body for a pin cushion I’d have brought thimbles.” Nick reached judiciously with the forefinger and thumb of his right hand and plucked the thorns from the fabric of his shirt, letting the stems of the rosebush snap back into place.

“From the looks of that round body those thorns have no chance of reaching anything vital.”

Nick ignored the comment, instead seizing the opportunity to catch his breath.

“Where the hell are we?”

Sam looked about, his eyes tracing the row of primeval columns that disappeared in the trees and brush on the rise beneath the castle.

“We’re under the pergola.” Sam pointed to a series of concrete columns winding a serpentine course around the hill toward the great house. The columns were spanned by beams of wood covered with aging vines of untended grapes. Like some long-abandoned temple to a Greek or 417

Roman god, the pergola stood majestically against an orchard of forgotten fruit trees.

“This should be the area the guide called Orchard Hill. The cages should be just over the top of the hill on the other side.” Sam plucked the last rose thorn from his pant leg and before Nick could get to his feet he was under the pergola and through the orchard that crowned the top of the hill.

Nick scurried along behind, content to be on the down side of the hill for a change. His stride lengthened with each step, and as the steep decline of the hill increased, Nick found his gait transformed from a fast walk to a jog. In less than ten strides the gentle slant of the hillside transformed itself to a precipice. Nick could no longer control his feet. He was headed down the steep incline in a full sprint. His arms waved frantically in circular motions as he careened down the hill, struggling to keep his legs under his body.

Sam heard the commotion behind him as Nick laid the flat bottoms of his feet to the hard ground, trying to bring himself to a stop. In desperation, Jorgensen applied the only lesson of snow skiing he’d ever mastered—when in doubt, sit.

He leaned back and planted his behind on the slope of the hill, sending up a low cloud of dust. He slid through a stout mulberry bush that slowed his progress and came to an abrupt stop with a thud against a solid wall of clear gray concrete.

Sam hustled down the hill behind him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Nick groaned.

Sam slowly helped him to his feet.

“Next time try to be a little more graceful. All we need to do is break a leg up here.”

“If that happens you can leave me behind with a pistol and a single round.” Sarcasm dripped from Nick’s voice.

Sam smiled as he swatted the dust from the back of Nick’s pants. He turned and looked up. “I think we’ve arrived.”

There before them a solid ridge of concrete formed a continuous arc twenty feet high as it curved around and into the earth at the side of Orchard Hill. Like some immense bunker from a gun emplacement, the animal enclosure was constructed of steel-reinforced concrete, with walls two feet thick. The rear side of the enclosure was a semicircle of solid cement cut into the 419

hillside.

Sam moved to the right along the curving structure and climbed the earthen backfill that rose nearly to the top of the wall on the high side of the hill.

He took the rope from his shoulder and tossed one end around a piece of rusting pipe that protruded from the top of the wall. After three attempts he managed to loop the rope around the pipe and catch the end as it came back. He fastened a quick slipknot and boosted himself the remaining seven feet to the top of the wall. Inside, the enclosure was bisected by cement partitions that formed separate chambers for different animals. Across the back was a picket line of iron bars, now rusted with age. A broad, deep pit with steep cement walls separated the front of the cages from the public area set aside for viewing.

A curving concrete catwalk spanned the enclosures over the top of the partitions. In the rear directly beneath him was a large open area separated from the cages by iron bars with a gate leading from the main enclosure to each of the smaller partitioned cages. The large area resembled an amphitheater. Sam guessed that it might have been used by Hearst and his entourage to view special shows from the bridge over the cages.

Nick made his way to the top of the enclosure and stood next to Sam.

“Where do you think we should start?”

“Down there.” Sam gestured to the floor of the amphitheater. He pulled the rope up and dropped it into the enclosure and two seconds later slipped gracefully over the side and down to the bottom of the cages.

“Come on down.” Sam’s hushed voice echoed off the curved walls of concrete.

Nick hesitantly grabbed the rope and turned. Mimicking Sam’s movements, he placed his feet against the concrete wall and step by step lowered himself into the pit, his thoughts already preoccupied with the return trip.

As Nick reached the bottom, Sam had already begun to examine the walls and floor of the amphitheater. They were solid concrete with no apparent openings or doors other than the barred gates leading to the cages at the front of the enclosure. Sam moved under the concrete catwalk that separated the cages from the amphitheater. It appeared to be a working 421

area with high-pressure hose bibs for washing down the cages. The cement floor was stained with the rust of the aging iron bars. At the far end of the walkway under the bridge was a tunnel leading to a number of covered cages enclosed in a large room, a covered shelter to be used when the animals were not on display and during foul weather.

A single exit led from the room out to the road traversing the front of the enclosure. Sam moved over and quickly examined the iron gate that sealed the exit. It was locked.

He walked back out into the amphitheater.

In the opposite direction under the catwalk Nick had discovered a small iron door. As Sam surveyed the enclosure he found only two breaks in the otherwise continuous span of concrete that surrounded them; the animal shelter with its single exit, and the small iron door being explored by Jorgensen.

Nick tried the metal latch handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“Is it locked?”

“Either that or rusted,” said Nick.

Sam found a discarded piece of metal pipe six inches long. He slid the opening of the pipe over the latch handle of the door for leverage.

“I’d be careful if I were you.” Jorgensen’s words were prophetic, if not timely.

Gripping the handle with both hands, Sam pulled up on the pipe handle. The metal latch handle broke off, showering shavings of oxidized metal on the floor.

“Well, that was good. Any more ideas?” said Nick.

“Damn it.”

“Let me see.” Nick moved around him and examined the door. It was made of two solid plates of iron forming the top and bottom panels fixed on a welded steel frame that was bolted to the concrete by heavy metal hinges. Jorgensen reached into his pocket and came out with a Swiss Army knife that sported a dozen specialty blades.

“Those things are handy, but I don’t think the can opener’s gonna work on that door,” said Sam.

Nick ignored him and opened one of the blades, a long, needlelike piece of stainless steel.

He probed in the large keyhole beneath the broken latch handle. After several seconds Sam heard a distinct click inside the door. 3

Nick reached up, gripping the broken nub of the latch handle. He turned it with a quick twist and the door sprung open an inch.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve not spent my entire life locked in the pursuit of academic achievement.” Nick smiled at him and winked.

Sam looked askance at Jorgensen, realizing for the first time that there was a side to the man he had never before seen—a resourcefulness in the face of adversity that he had never expected. He wondered how much of the bumbling lack of grace was feigned, a part of Nick’s body armor against a demanding society that cut little slack for the overweight.

It took the combined strength of both men to pull the door open far enough to enter. The rusted hinges groaned and buckled. It was pitch black inside. Nick pulled one of the small plastic flashlights from his coat pocket and snapped it on. The area inside the door was confined. Their light immediately bounced off the back wall of a cobweb-infested service closet. It contained metal pails and a cast-iron service sink. Wooden shelves covered the two side walls and were littered with assorted brushes, rags and other abandoned cleaning supplies. Sam squeezed his way into the opening behind Nick and moved his flashlight, looking around the tiny room.

The semantic puzzle he had solved so ingeniously at the book shop at Cambria was revealing itself to be nothing more than the self-delusion of an overactive imagination. With Jennifer abducted, the consequences of his folly were beginning to settle on him.

Nick was busy examining the wooden shelves on the two side walls.

Bogardus checked the floor. It was solid concrete, as were the walls behind the two shelves and the service sink. He directed the flashlight upward along the back wall. The beam was swallowed by a ceiling with no apparent limit, and shelves on one side continued up the wall well beyond reach for any practical purpose.

“Are you thinking what I am?” asked Nick.

Sam doused his flashlight, dropped it in his pocket and started to climb the shelves. “Try to give me some light up here.” His voice echoed in the small room. Nick moved against 425

the opposite wall and directed the beam of his flashlight just ahead of Sam’s hands as he climbed. Bogardus could see that the shelves stopped about twelve feet up. The beam of the flashlight caught what appeared to be a line of large metal rivets just above the last shelf.

Sam clung to one of the two-by-sixes with one hand and pulled the flashlight from his coat pocket. As he flipped it on, the glare of the light illuminated a small iron door with panels fixed by large round rivets. There was no latch handle, only a large keyhole near the edge of the door halfway up.

“Look’s like your turn,” said Sam.

He scampered down the ladder and a minute later, Nick stood on the top rung repeating his magic with the little Swiss knife.

Sam stood a few rungs below him, holding a flashlight on the keyhole.

There was an audible clink inside the door as it swung open, clanging against the concrete on the side wall.

“Jesus! Hold it down.” Sam jiggled the flashlight. The sound of metal against cement echoed in the small chamber and reverberated through the amphitheater outside the room. Nick stood motionless on the ladder, afraid to move for fear of hitting the door and knocking it against the wall a second time. Several seconds passed. Nick closed the knife and placed it in his jacket pocket, retrieving his flashlight. He snapped it on and directed the light into the open doorway high on the wall of the service closet. He saw only a dim reflection against a drab wall a good distance from the door.

He moved the light around. On the wall just inside the open door was a light switch, an ancient twist-type that had not been seen in hardware stores since the Depression. Nick reached over with his hand and turned the switch. Instantly a soft yellow light bathed the open hatchway high on the wall where he stood and illuminated an immense room that spread out before him through the open door. A ladder led down from the opening into the room. Without a word Nick climbed through the door and down the ladder on the other side.

“What do you see?” Sam turned off his flashlight. The reflection of light from the open door above illuminated the service closet.

Sam scaled the shelves toward the open 427

door.

Nick stood at the bottom of the ladder facing out toward the cavernous room, the expression on his face fixed like a stone idol.

“My God!” Sam had reached the open door high on the wall and stood on the ladder with his upper body in the opening. There, spread before him, was a room the size of a small warehouse buried in the earth beneath Orchard Hill. The room was twenty-five to thirty feet in height from floor to ceiling. The walls were lined to a height of fifteen feet with long wooden shelves spanning the length and breadth of the cavern. The shelves were mostly bare or littered with old packing material and odd boxes with their lids scattered on the floor. A sarcophagus, seven feet long and weighing a ton or more, lay in the center of the room. Carved in deep relief from marble, the ancient coffin was complete with a lid that revealed an exquisite death mask. There were two small vases on the floor beside the sarcophagus. Against the far wall four wooden crates, three of which were open, lay scattered on the floor, lost in a sea of excelsior.