The Secret of Excalibur (22 page)

‘Maybe not.’ Mitchell walked into the circle, holding the figures of Lancelot and Galahad. He showed the keys to her. ‘See? I checked the others, and they’re all the same. No way a bunch of twelfth-century monks would be able to make precision locks. It won’t even matter what holes they’re in if all the keys are identical - they just need to be in them.’

Nina was dubious. ‘Sure you want to take that risk?’

‘You’re bloody one to talk about risk,’ growled a familiar voice from behind them.

‘Eddie!’ Nina cried, jumping to her feet. Chase had just entered the chamber, his jeans wet and mud-spattered.

Chase in turn eyed her clothes, particularly Mitchell’s oversized, damp shirt, before shooting a deeply suspicious glare at the bare-chested DARPA agent. ‘What’s all this?’

‘We’re trying to unlock the tomb—’

‘No, I mean why’ve you both got your kit off ? Looks like I got here just in time!’

‘For Christ’s sake, Eddie,’ Nina said, exasperated. ‘You seriously think that I’d go through trap-filled tunnels into the long-lost tomb of King Arthur just to find somewhere private to . . .’ She lowered her voice, even though there was no way Mitchell could fail to overhear. ‘To get laid? Jesus, Eddie, you know me better than that.’

‘Yeah, I know you. And I knew you’d come down here, even though I told you not to!’

Nina nodded disdainfully. ‘Uh-huh, yep. I thought that’d be what this little mood of yours was
really
about.’ Behind her, Mitchell examined the holes in the floor, then carefully inserted the two figures on either side of Arthur before returning to the alcove to collect the rest of the ornate keys.

Chase crossed his arms. ‘And what would that be?’

‘That you think you’re losing control of things.’

‘Oh, really?’ Chase sneered.

‘Yes, really. Eddie, I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but what happened to Mitzi was
not
your fault, no matter how much you try to put the blame on yourself. And overcompensating by trying to take control of everything I do isn’t the way to deal with it!’

‘I’m not trying to
control
you,’ Chase protested. ‘I’m trying to
protect
you! For fuck’s sake, you could’ve been killed getting here!’

‘But I wasn’t, was I?’ She reached out and clasped one of his hands. ‘Look, I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, I really do. But you can’t be with me every minute of every day - you’re not my bodyguard any more. I shouldn’t need to get your permission to do what I do. It doesn’t work like that. It
won’t
work like that.’

‘If I
hadn’t
been with you, you’d be dead about twenty times over,’ Chase reminded her sharply. ‘You’re not Indiana Jones, you’re not Lara Croft, you’re a real-life person who can get hurt. Or
killed
. And I do
not
want that to happen - especially not for some fucking dusty old legend!’ he concluded with a dismissive flick of the head at the chamber around them.

‘It’s not a legend,’ Nina said angrily, ‘it’s
real
, it’s actual history—’ She stopped abruptly, eyes widening as it struck her exactly why the discrepancy between what Chloe had told her and what the tomb itself had revealed was bothering her so much.

And she also fully registered the clink and scrape of metal against stone behind her—

She whirled. Mitchell had inserted the remaining knights into the empty holes, and was reaching for the figure of Arthur . . .

‘
Don’t!
’ she screamed. Mitchell froze, hand hovering over the key. Nina pushed him back and yanked the figure out of the hole.

‘Okay, what was that?’ he asked, worried yet mystified.

‘This isn’t just the entrance to the tomb,’ Nina said, waving the figurine at him. ‘It’s the last trap! Chloe was right, the Round Table
didn’t
exist. But it had already been incorporated into Arthurian legend by 1191 - and the monks took advantage of that! It’s the final test of your knowledge of the difference between history and myth. If the Round Table didn’t exist, then
none
of Arthur’s knights could have sat at it. And nor could Arthur!’ She held the bronze figure in front of his face. The key beneath the king’s feet was noticeably shorter than the others. ‘This is the key - but you have to take it
out
. The real lock’s somewhere else.’

Mitchell let out a worried breath. ‘So what happens if you try the fake lock?’

‘Exactly what the monks said. “Those who know the truth may find the tomb of Arthur; those who do not shall never leave.”’ She raised the torch, turning to examine the ceiling above the entrance. Set above the opening was a thick stone slab, a door primed to drop like a guillotine blade to block the way out of the chamber. ‘Screw up the puzzle, and that falls and seals you in.’

Mitchell regarded it dismissively. ‘Might have been a big problem nine hundred years back, but we’ve got jackhammers and explosives now.’

‘You got gills?’ Chase asked sarcastically. Nina turned to see him examining a section of wall. The stone was discoloured, lines of muddy brown and algae green running down it from the ceiling, where a rectangular hole revealed only blackness above. She realised as she scanned the rest of the chamber that the same stains were present on other parts of the walls.

‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You don’t just get shut in. You get shut in . . . and then the chamber floods. There must be a cistern above the ceiling - those stains are from when it’s overflowed in the past.’

Mitchell’s expression now revealed considerably more respect for the tomb’s builders. ‘So where’s the real lock?’

‘Over here.’ Nina went to the alcove, shining the light down into the holes where the figurines had been slotted. The one which had been home to Lancelot revealed a recess within - just deeper than a finger could reach, but matching the length of the Arthur key. She inserted it into the hole.

‘You sure about that?’ Chase asked warily.

She smiled at him. ‘It’s a risk . . . but a calculated one.’ With that, she gripped the key - and turned it.

There was a metallic clink from within the shelf, but nothing else happened. ‘It didn’t work,’ Mitchell said, disappointed.

‘I’m not done yet. Bring all the other knights back here - all of them except Lancelot and Galahad. Eddie, give him a hand.’

‘And she says
I’m
controlling,’ said Chase. But he still went to help Mitchell retrieve the figures.

‘Why not Lancelot and Galahad?’ Mitchell asked as he brought the first set back to the alcove.

‘Because all the others have at least some historical basis. But Lancelot was a fictional creation, and since Galahad was Lancelot’s son, he can’t have existed either.’

The other figures now back in place, Nina lowered the Arthur key into the hole in the shelf once more. Hoping she was at least as smart as the Glastonbury monks, she turned it again.

Another faint clink.

This time, the entire alcove trembled slightly, as if some unseen pressure had been relieved. Exchanging cautious looks with the two men, Nina warily pushed against the stone. It moved fractionally at one side. She pushed harder. It hinged open by a couple of inches, which rapidly widened as Chase and Mitchell applied their weight. The alcove ground back, revealing a doorway into another chamber.

The final chamber, Nina knew. They had passed all the tests, proved themselves worthy. This was their destination - the resting place of King Arthur.

She brought up the torch and stepped inside. Chase and Mitchell followed.

The room was small and surprisingly plain, devoid of the inscriptions adorning the chamber outside. But the objects inside were more ornate. Two large coffins of black stone stood raised above the floor on slabs, carvings of angels along their sides picked out in silver and gold. Set into the top of each coffin was a golden cross, Latin text written upon them to confirm who lay within.

Arthur, king of the Britons, and Guinevere, his queen.

They were real. And they were here, buried beneath Glastonbury Tor.

But despite that, Nina couldn’t look away from the object that sat between the two coffins. A block of solid granite, roughly hewn into a cube close to three feet high.

Protruding from it, its blade buried deep within the stone, was a sword.

They had found Excalibur.

19

‘
W
ell, bugger me,’ said Chase. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ ‘It is,’ said Nina, amazed. Unlike the elaborately decorated Caliburn, this sword was plain, almost stark in its design, the only ornamentation being intertwined twin snakes inscribed into the hilt - just as Rust had described. Yet it was evident a great deal of time and work had been put into its creation, the metal of the blade having an almost mercury-like reflective sheen, the hilt perfectly moulded to the grip of one particular man. ‘Oh, God, poor Bernd. He spent all those years trying to work out how to find it, and he was right . . . but he couldn’t be here to see it.’

Mitchell stepped forward, brushing past Nina to stand between the two coffins. ‘The important thing is that
we
found it - and before the Russians.’ He knelt, waving for Nina to bring the torch closer. Slightly irked, she did so. ‘Look at the finish of the metal, how smooth it is. We were right, it’s more than just steel.’ He reached out one hand to take the hilt.

‘Ahem,’ Nina said. ‘Before you get your muddy hands over everything, can I at least document what we’ve found?’ She held up the camera.

‘Of course. Sorry.’ Mitchell backed out so Nina could photograph the room and its contents.

‘So,’ said Chase, his anger fading to be replaced by a surprising eagerness, ‘which of us gets to be the next king of England, then?’ Nina looked at him questioningly. ‘Oh, come on! It’s the sword in the bloody stone! It’s got to be done.’

‘Caliburn was the sword in the stone,’ she pointed out, ‘not Excalibur.’

‘Whatever, it’s still King Arthur’s sword. Even I know about the whole “once and future king” business.’ He stepped up to the stone. ‘At least take a picture. Come on, something to show the grandkids.’

‘Where the hell did
grandkids
come from? We haven’t even set a wedding date yet!’

‘Just take the picture.’ He struck a pose beside the stone, hand poised over the hilt. Nina rolled her eyes and reluctantly nodded. ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Chase with a huge grin, gripping the sword. ‘I’m the king of the world!’

Nina took a picture as he grunted and strained to pull the weapon free. ‘God, what a face.’

‘Yeah, that’s what all the lasses say,’ Chase declared, releasing the hilt. The sword hadn’t moved in the slightest. ‘Guess I’m not king material. Mind you, I kind of suspected that already.’

‘What about you, Jack?’ Nina asked. ‘Fancy taking a shot at the throne?’

‘I’m more interested in getting this thing out of here to somewhere secure,’ Mitchell told her. Nevertheless, he reached for the sword as Chase stepped aside. ‘Still, you never know . . .’ Nina took another picture as he too strained to raise the sword - with the same result. ‘Looks like we’ll have to take the stone with it.’

‘Think we’ll need some help,’ said Chase. ‘It’s what, nearly a yard to a side? Must weigh well over a ton.’ He looked at Nina. ‘You not having a go?’

‘Yeah, right. If you can’t move it, I’m hardly going to be able to.’ Nina returned the camera to her pocket and crouched by the granite block, holding the torch beside the blade. ‘You’re right about the metal though. It’s definitely not ordinary steel.’ She leaned closer, examining tiny details. ‘It’s been used as a weapon; there are scratches and chips in the blade - but they’re very small. It must be extremely strong.’ She straightened, holding Excalibur’s hilt to pull herself up—

The whole weapon lit up with an eerie blue glow. Nina jumped in shock - and pulled the sword cleanly out of the stone. She yelped, letting go. The glow instantly vanished, Excalibur clanging to the stone floor.

‘What the hell was that?’ Chase demanded. The only light now coming from the sword was the reflected torch beam.

‘That glow,’ said Mitchell, cautiously raising a hand towards Excalibur as if feeling for heat, ‘almost looked like Cherenkov radiation.’

Nina backed away. ‘You mean it’s
radioactive
?’

‘So much for the grandkids,’ Chase muttered.

‘I don’t see how,’ said Mitchell. ‘But there was definitely some kind of high-energy reaction.’ He leaned forward to touch the sword.

‘What, are you crazy?’ Nina asked. But nothing happened.

He withdrew his hand. ‘You try.’

‘I’d really rather not!’

‘You’ll be okay. I have a theory.’ Her frown deepened, but Mitchell gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Trust me.’

Nina dubiously touched the sword with the tip of her forefinger. It lit up again as if she had switched on a light, glowing from end to end. When she flinched away, the effect immediately disappeared.

She touched it again, more firmly. The glow returned, the metal itself somehow emitting light. Examining it more closely, she realised the glow was not uniform; instead, it had an almost rippling quality, subtly yet constantly shifting. She slid her finger down the flat of the blade. ‘It’s not even warm.’

Chase stepped forward and put his fingers on the hilt. The glow didn’t alter. But when Nina drew her hand back, the light vanished once more.

She looked at Mitchell. ‘Okay, Jack. What’s this theory of yours?’ ‘We were right,’ said Mitchell, gazing at the sword. ‘It really is a superconductor, and it really can channel earth energy.’ He raised his hands, indicating the chamber’s ceiling. ‘This whole place, Glastonbury Tor - it must be a convergence point for that energy. And for some reason, when you hold the sword, you’re
focusing
the energy.’

‘Why? How? And, er . . .
what
?’ Nina pressed her fingers to her temples in pained confusion. ‘What the hell are you talking about? How can I be making it do anything?’

‘I don’t know. But there’s obviously something about you that makes it react that way. And whatever it is, King Arthur had it too. Remember the legends of Excalibur lighting up when he wielded it? Shining with the light of thirty torches, something like that?

Maybe your body has a specific kind of bioelectric field, the same as his, I don’t know. We might be able to check with Kirlian photography.’

‘Kirlian photography?’ hooted Nina. ‘Okay, now we’re getting into auras and chakras and crystals.’

He pointed at Excalibur. ‘You explain it, then.’

Nina picked up the weapon, which flashed into life again. ‘I can’t, can I? But you seem to be coming up with stuff very quickly.’ She raised it for a closer look at the blade.

‘DARPA’s been researching the potential of earth energy for some time. But this is . . . well, an unexpected development. It fits in with our theories, though.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘An earth energy generator would need a superconductor to work. Excalibur
is
a superconductor, it must be. But for whatever reason, when you hold it, it enhances its abilities. You’re making it channel earth energy directly, without needing an antenna array.’

‘But how? It’s just a piece of metal.’ Nina lowered the blade and clanged it against a corner of the granite block to illustrate her point . . . and the sword sliced through the stone as if it were no harder than butter. A fist-sized chunk fell heavily to the floor.

‘Aah!’ Nina jumped back. ‘What the
hell
?’

‘Push it back in the stone,’ Mitchell suggested. Nina did so, the weapon sliding easily several inches deep into the granite. She let go of the hilt; the glow vanished, leaving the sword sticking out of the block at an angle.

Chase tried to pull it loose. Metal crunched against stone, but he couldn’t actually remove it. ‘Okay, you just chopped through solid stone.’

‘But . . .’ Nina took hold of the hilt, and the blue glow returned. It took almost no effort for her to slip Excalibur back out of the granite.

She rounded on Mitchell as Chase knelt to take a closer look at the damage she had done to the stone. ‘Okay, if you have a new theory, I really,
really
want to hear it!’

‘Actually, I do - but it can wait. Give me the sword.’ Taking great care to hold the blade away from him, she passed it to Mitchell. The glow vanished when she let go. ‘This is what we came for. The rest of the site, you can get a full archaeological team to survey it, but we need to get the sword to DARPA for analysis as soon as possible.’ Mitchell carefully ran a finger along the blade, then whistled admiringly. ‘We did it.
You
did it, Nina. You found Excalibur. Congratulations!’

‘Thanks,’ Nina replied. She walked towards the door to the main chamber. ‘But for now, how about we get out of here and put on some dry clothes, huh?’

‘Yes, something
sexy
,’ said a Russian-accented voice from outside.

Nina froze. Standing in the chamber was the long-haired man Chase had thrown out of the window of Staumberg Castle, Zakhar. Beside him was a broad-shouldered, shaven-headed thug with an ugly scar running across his throat practically from ear to ear. Both were armed, the bald man with a pistol, Zakhar with a compact MP-5K sub-machine gun.

‘Hello again, sexy lady,’ said Zakhar with a crooked smile, running his free hand through his hair. ‘Come out here. And you, Jack.’ He looked past Nina, gesturing with the gun for Mitchell to follow her.

Nina risked a glance back as she left the tomb chamber. Chase had moved as soon as he heard the new arrivals, and was now crouching in the cover of Arthur’s coffin. But it wouldn’t take much for the Russians to spot him.

Fortunately, they were more interested in what Mitchell was holding. ‘Ah!’ said Zakhar. ‘Good, you have sword.’

Mitchell raised it, as if preparing to enter battle. ‘Care for a rematch, Zakhar?’

Zakhar smiled again and shook his head. ‘I do not think so. Besides, I already beat you once. Now, put down sword and move over there.’ He nodded in the direction of the back wall.

Mitchell reluctantly placed Excalibur on the floor before following Nina across the room. She looked back at the tomb again. Chase was nowhere in sight - and the two Russians apparently thought only she and Mitchell were there.

‘There’s more here than just the sword,’ she said to Zakhar, indicating the opening. ‘That room’s the tomb of King Arthur - and it’s full of treasure. If you let us go, you can have it. You can have it all.’

‘Treasure?’ said Zakhar. He looked at the door, seeming disappointed by what he saw beyond. ‘I see no treasure.’

‘It’s in the coffins. All of King Arthur’s royal gold and jewels.’

The two Russians exchanged glances. ‘Stand by wall,’ said Zakhar, directing Nina and Mitchell back with his gun. He nodded to the other man. ‘Orlovsky?’

The bald man grunted and moved to the tomb entrance, peering inside and seeing the two stone coffins. He glanced back at Zakhar, then stepped through—

Chase’s hand whipped round from the other side of the opening and smashed the chunk of cut stone into Orlovsky’s face, sending teeth showering out in a cascade of ivory. The Russian let out a gurgling scream and fell backwards, spitting blood from his ruined mouth. His gun bounced from his hand and skittered across the stone floor.

Zakhar gasped in surprise, then whirled and fired his MP-5K at the doorway as Chase lunged back into cover. In the confined space the gunfire was almost deafening. Nina yelled and pressed her hands to her ears as Mitchell dived at Zakhar. He saw him coming and brought the gun back round, still firing. Chips of stone exploded from the walls as the bullets hit. Nina ducked, the line of holes stitching just over her head.

Mitchell grabbed Zakhar’s gun hand, stopping the weapon short just before it reached his face. Zakhar snarled and fired again anyway. The muzzle flame scorched Mitchell’s temple, the American screwing up his face in pain. Zakhar wrenched the gun from his grip, taking aim at Mitchell’s head—

Nothing came from the MP-5K but a dry metal click. The magazine was empty.

Chase heard the sound and ran into the chamber, vaulting over the fallen Russian. ‘Nina, go!’

‘What about Jack?’ she cried, seeing Mitchell struggling with Zakhar. The empty gun clattered to the floor beside the protruding figures of Lancelot and Galahad.

‘Just
go
!’ He shoved her towards the exit, then turned to join the fight in the centre of the room.

One eye still squeezed closed, Mitchell was unable to react fast enough to block Zakhar as he twisted round and slammed his elbow into his temple. Mitchell staggered back, and Zakhar immediately took advantage, delivering a crunching kick into his stomach. Mitchell crashed against the side wall and dropped to the floor, winded.

Zahkar smiled in triumph, then turned to face Chase.

Who had snatched up the sword and was swinging it at his head, about to cleave it in two—

The Russian’s hands flashed up with shocking speed, palms clapping together to arrest the blade’s swipe just above his forehead. A drop of blood fell from the edge of the sword. For a moment, the two men stared at each other, eye to eye.

Then Zakhar moved.

Chase knew the kick was coming, but despite his best efforts wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid it as Zakhar spun and lashed out a foot, cutting his legs out from under him. Chase stumbled, landing hard in the centre of the painted Round Table. He lost his grip on Excalibur as he fell - and realised to his shock that Zakhar had kept hold of it, bloodied hands still squeezing the blade.

Zakhar flipped the sword over and caught it by the hilt, hands raised high over his head. He looked at Chase, ready to plunge it down like a stake into the Englishman’s stomach—

A bloody hole burst open in his left shoulder.

The chamber rang to the echoing boom of Orlovsky’s gun - now in Nina’s hands. Zakhar lurched round, Excalibur flying from his grip to land at the side of the room. Clutching at the wound, he staggered backward . . . and tripped over the figure of Lancelot.

The key turned.

A harsh scrape of metal came from beneath the floor as some ancient mechanism, held in check since the twelfth century, was finally released.

‘Oh,
bollocks
,’ muttered Chase.