“THIS WILL BE MORE helpful now.” From somewhere Abelard produced a flashlight and shone it into the cavity. About a foot below the surface of the floor, Neisen could see stone steps leading downward. At the bottom, he made out what looked like a small antechamber similar to the one leading to the penitential cell.
Abelard let the light play on the portion of the entrance just below floor level. As it did, Neisen got some idea of what mechanical processes had been at work to cause the stone slab to disappear. By the use of an ingenious track, the subfloor had pulled back. He could see its outer edge slightly recessed into the wall of the entrance opposite the steps.
On the other side, Neisen saw a slit. It was constructed at a forty-five degree angle with the floor and was slightly wider and deeper. Neisen realized, by standing on the right floor blocks, they had activated a mechanism causing the supporting floor to pull back. As it did the floor above began to tilt until it aligned with the slit, then…away it slid, like launching a ship. Amazing engineering, Neisen could not help but marvel.
There was no time for him to search for the mechanism that accomplished this wonder since Abelard had already eased himself into the opening and begun shuffling down the short flight of stairs. The man amazed Neisen. He had appeared old when Neisen first met him nearly thirty years ago. He had to be near ninety and grossly overweight; however, his enthusiasm for the search was obviously overriding his physical limitations.
“No time to dawdle.” With his next step, Abelard disappeared into the hole. “Come on, my boy,” he called, “we’re almost there.”
Neisen retrieved the candle and followed down the steps. There were twelve of them. With some quick arithmetic, he figured about an eight-inch drop for each step meant they were about nine feet beneath the floor of the church.
Abelard had already moved from the stairwell to the anteroom beyond when Neisen reached the bottom of the stairs. “Come quickly!” he shouted.
Rushing into the room, Neisen found the old man standing before a recess cut into the far wall, the beam of his flashlight focused on a skull. More than a skull, he realized, as Abelard’s light swept the recess; an entire skeleton with the tattered rags of what obviously had been a burial shroud clinging to its bones. On one bony finger, Neisen saw an ornate golden ring, and around the neck hung a large golden cross.
“Heraclias,” Abelard whispered, as if speaking louder might awaken him.
“But where is the stone and scroll?”
Abelard shot the light around the tiny chamber. “They’re not here.”
“Not here! They’ve got to be here!” Neisen’s voice grew frantic. If true, this would be a death sentence to The Brotherhood’s dreams. They had worked so long, come so far and spilled so much blood through the centuries, it was unthinkable it would all end here—in an empty tomb!
“I tell you it’s not here, Neisen.” Abelard again let his light play about the small room.
“Empty…” Abelard’s voice shook like that of the old man he was, as he leaned against the wall, and slowly slipped to the floor.
“Dr. Abelard!” Neisen set his candle aside, bent and retrieved the flashlight that had dropped from the professor’s hand. He let its light play over the old man’s crumpled body. Abelard’s head drooped forward, his chin resting on his chest, but he was still breathing. His vacant eyes, however, told Neisen his teacher had retreated beyond the reach of any more disappointments.
He focused the light on the skeleton again. The scroll and the stone must be here. His mind raced. It has to be! He swept the room again with the flashlight. The walls of the tomb were bare plaster except for a few places where it had broken away to reveal the brick underneath. If I were concealing something here and wanted it found someday by the right people, where would I hide it? He looked at his watch again: three forty-five. He had to think!
He focused his light on the niche again. “The person I wanted to find the stone would have to be familiar with the sign,” he muttered to himself. “Therefore, I would…what? Think!”
Suddenly it came to him. He would mark its hiding place with the sign. But the walls were bare.
He played the light again on the skeleton of Heraclius. The gold cross around the neck and the ornate ring on his finger shimmered in the light. The ring! The revelation, like sunrise, lit his mind. The ring! Of course! It has to be! A Bishop’s ring was a plain gold band. Even from a distance, he could see this one had a design cut into its face.
The light trembled in his hand as he reached down and removed the ring from the skeletal finger. He gasped as he held it to the light. There, graven in its face – the sign! His heart pounded. Ricoldo and Bachelor had put the ring on the dead man’s finger to mark the hiding place!
Carefully, he pushed the bones aside and wiped away remnants of the shroud beneath them. The ledge was common brick and had not been plastered over. In the light, he saw slight indentations on several of the bricks. They have been removed, and then replaced, he realized.
He needed something with which to pry, and all Abelard’s tools were on the floor of the chapel.
“I’ll be right back,” Neisen said, as he let his light fall again on Abelard’s vacant face.
Bounding up the steps, he found the hammer and chisel then returned to the crypt where Abelard still sat slumped against the wall beside the candle.
A few strokes and Neisen had driven his chisel into a crack and pried loose one of the bricks. It was easy then to remove several others around it. For a moment, he let the beam of his flashlight play around the edges of the small opening, dreading to look inside for fear of the ultimate disappointment. When he finally mustered the courage to shine his light into the hole, he almost wept with relief.
Less than an arm’s length away lay two objects. One stood on end and came to within six inches of the top of the hole, another smaller object nestled beside it.
“Abelard, I’ve found them!” he shouted, grasping the scroll and drawing it from its hiding place. He was so riveted on what he was doing he did not see Abelard lift his head. “A leather pouch…I can see it at the bottom of the hole. It’s the stone! It’s got to be.” He reached his arm in and withdrew it. The prize at last in his hand, he turned and was startled to see Abelard had raised his head, his eyes following his every move. “Professor, I’ve found it!” Neisen shouted again.
Far back in Abelard’s mind where his disappointment now resided, he heard Neisen’s announcement. Like an adrenaline rush, it spiked his body with new strength and jerked him back to reality. “We must be going,” he said, extending his hand.
Neisen grasped it and hauled the old man to his feet, amazed at his recuperative powers.
“The custodians…” Abelard muttered.
“I know.” Neisen looked at his watch again. “It’s four fifteen.
They will be here in less than an hour.”
“There’s no time to close the crypt,” Abelard said.
“No need.” An idea of how to cover their tracks was already taking shape in Neisen’s mind. “How did you get here?” he asked.
“One of the Brothers drove me. He’s parked a block over.”
“Good,” Neisen looked at the candle. It had almost melted away. “There’s just enough time. You stay here; the candle will last until I get back.”
Abelard nodded as Neisen bounded up the stairs.
As he exited the west door of the church, he could see the cab still parked across the narrow lane. A street lamp silhouetted the shadowy form of the driver inside, his head tilted against the back of the seat. Asleep, Neisen realized, as he knocked lightly on the window. There was no response so Neisen knocked again more forcefully. This time the cabbie raised his head and looked about groggily before spotting Neisen standing by the window.
“Guv, is that you?” the man asked as he lowered the glass.
“Yes,” Neisen replied, making a quick appraisal of the man: middle-aged, overweight, perhaps slightly drunk as evidenced by his bloodshot eyes and the half-empty bottle on the seat beside him.
“Where to, guv? The hotel?” The driver brushed back his hair and reached over the seat to open the back door.
“Not yet.” Neisen tried to make his voice sound as relaxed as possible. “First, I need your help. The Temple Church there is undergoing major restoration.” The cabbie regarded Neisen with dull eyes, nodding knowingly.
“In the process of the restoration renovators discovered a burial chamber beneath the building. My associate and I have been commissioned to examine the chamber and assess its archeological significance before work in the area can continue. I’m sure you appreciate how important it is that antiquities are preserved.”
The cab driver nodded again.
“I’m afraid my colleague has injured his back or something. He cannot manage the stairs. He’s a rather large man. Can you help me?”
“Maybe we should just call for an ambulance, eh? I’m not in the best…”
“There’s an extra ten pounds in it for your trouble.” Neisen took a large wad of bills from his pocket. “Of course, that would be in addition to a generous tip.”
The cabbie’s face lit up like neon as his eyes devoured the bills in Neisen’s hand. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place, guv?” He opened his door and started toward the church.
He followed Neisen through the west entrance just as he flipped on his flashlight.
“They’re rewiring the building, and the power’s been turned off. We’ve had to resort to candles and this flashlight,” he said over his shoulder.
“No problem, guv. Lead on.”
Neisen was glad he had the presence of mind to extinguish the large candle on his way out of the church. A few moments later, they reached the north wall. Stopping, he shone the beam of light into the hole. “The stairs to the vault are there,” he said.
Drawn by the vision of a fat tip, the cabbie moved ahead of Neisen in the direction of the beam.
Neisen knew the workers would soon be arriving. He envisioned their gaping into the hole, descending the stairs, and finding the scattered bones. They would rush to a phone and call the police. But Neisen needed them to see it as more than simple vandalism – a robbery gone badly, a falling out among thieves. Anything to divert suspicion from the monumental importance of his discovery.
“I don’t see no stairs.” The driver’s voice jerked Neisen’s attention back to the immediate job at hand.
“There,” he said, allowing his light to brush the upper edge of the stairwell. “My associate’s down there.”
The cabbie saw the opening and moved to peer over the edge into the inky darkness below. “If you could shine the light a little this way—”
Neisen pushed him squarely in the back.
The cabbie screamed as his body pitched forward, and his chin connected with the ledge opposite the stairs. The ancient church echoed with the crack of his neck, then the thud of dead flesh hitting stone at the bottom of the stairs…then…silence.
“Neisen? What the hell’s happening?” Abelard’s voice sounded far away and frightened. Looking down the stairwell Neisen could see the faint glow of the candle.
“I’m coming,” he said as he made his way down the stairs, stepping over the cabbie’s body, sprawled like a broken offering on the ancient stones.
Neisen did not need to feel for a pulse. The eyes stared at nothing. Turning, he watched Abelard haul himself to the stairwell entrance.
“I see helping to dispatch Bodien whetted your taste for blood.” Abelard said as Neisen walked past him into the burial crypt.
Neisen felt the old man’s eyes watching as he carefully replaced the bricks hiding the secret chamber, then removed the cross from the skeleton and scattered the bones about. Picking up the hammer and chisel, he wiped them clean of prints then returned to the stairwell where he pressed the cross into the cab driver’s outstretched hand.
“Don’t forget to wipe our prints off the candlesticks and the crowbars,” Abelard reminded.
“I won’t,” Neisen said as he felt to make sure the ring was in his pocket.
“Petty Thief Dies While Vandalizing Church,” Abelard quipped. “I can see the headlines now. You surprise me, Frederick. I’m impressed with your ingenuity.”
“Let’s get out of here. We can check out our find when we get to the hotel. You will be coming with me, I presume?”
“Yes, of course,” Abelard said.
Because of Abelard’s frail condition it took them longer to clear the church and walk the two blocks to his car than Neisen would have liked. As they walked, he could tell the old man had not fully recovered from his seizure because he continued to rub his forehead and mutter about a headache.
“A good breakfast will put you right,” Neisen said, straining to hear the singsong whine of police sirens.
By the time they reached the car, the gray half-light in the east signaled the approach of morning.
“Viscount Hotel,” Abelard said to the driver, who had slipped from behind the wheel and opened the door for them.
Abelard lay back, panting on the way back to the hotel. The stimulant of discovery had worn off and he remained silent until they reached Neisen’s suite.
“Would you like me to order you some breakfast?” He did not wait for Abelard to reply before dialing room service.
“A small glass of orange juice and some dry toast would be nice,” Abelard said absently.
Breakfast ordered, Neisen returned to their business. “Let’s take a look at our treasure.”
“Neisen untied the leather thongs of the pouch and retrieved the stone.
It was larger than he expected. About three inches long and perhaps half as wide, it was set in a gold border on which had been engraved the intertwining tails of snakes. A raised design was graven on the stone like that drawn by Beaujeu and scratched by Father Ricoldo on the wall of his cell.
Holding it up to the light, Neisen stared in awe as rainbow bands of luminescence washed over its surface. As he gazed into it, he felt he was staring through a window on the universe as galaxies of stars danced and sparkled against the blackness of its depths. Mesmerized, he watched as they coalesced into a single whirlpool of light that suddenly broke free of the stone, spun into the room, and drew him down…down.
“Dear God!” Neisen’s cry of alarm erupted like hot lava.
Never had he invoked the name of God in such a penitent way. In the past, he had always cloaked any reference to the Deity in cynicism. But now…
“Give it to me!” Abelard’s command was an invisible hand, jerking him back to reality through a spinning nebula of stars. “Now!” Abelard bellowed.
Neisen felt his mind break free of the stone’s attraction as he placed it in his teacher’s trembling hand.
Abelard clutched it tightly for several moments as though savoring its possession, then opened his fingers.
“Oh, my God!”
The expression Neisen saw on the old man’s face gave the word “terror” a new and even more terrible meaning.
“Abelard!” Neisen shouted.
There was no response. He grasped Abelard’s rigid arm, but except for the erratic rise and fall of his chest, there was no movement.
Is it my imagination, or is the light in the room growing dimmer? Neisen looked about for some point of reference. From the sitting area, he could see into the bedroom. Lit moments ago, it was now bathed in darkness as a malignant vapor crept into the sitting room. Although the sun should be up, no light shone through the windows. He looked across the room at Abelard – frozen in place, head down, eyes fixed on the stone. The darkness was swallowing him as well.
Again, Neisen tried to rouse him, but his efforts proved futile. Wherever he is, he can’t hear me.
The darkness was almost total now. The lighter shadow that was Abelard, now barely distinguishable from the pitch-blackness around him.
Reaching, Neisen frantically snatched the stone from Abelard’s hand, and still trembling, raised the old man’s chin from his chest.
“Oh, God!” It was Neisen now, who screamed in terror.
Abelard’s eyes! God in heaven…Abelard’s eyes! His eyes, like the stone, were projecting a maelstrom of fiery iridescence, windows through which Neisen dared not look, but did, then cried out as giant hands reached from the darkness, gathered up galaxies of stars, and flung them into the swelling whirlpool of light.
The waiter’s knock at the door propelled him back to his familiar world. Reaching down, he felt beside his chair for the leather bag and quickly replaced the stone.
Later he tried to convince himself lack of sleep, coupled with an overactive imagination, was responsible for a hallucination, choosing to ignore the fact that the moment he plunged the stone into the darkness of the bag, the light returned.
Abelard, however, did not see it. All signs of life were gone from his eyes and the blank fixed stare of a catatonic had replaced it.
“Call a doctor quickly,” Neisen shouted to the startled waiter as he opened the door, “I think my friend has suffered a stroke.”