The Vengeance of the Tau (7 page)

“Is that—”

Melissa interrupted her question when she saw her father locate the rope ladder and begin to climb down. It wobbled, and the old man clutched a rung for dear life, his bones brittle from decades of exposure to the calcium of limestone.

“Hold it steady, child.”

“Let me go first.”

“Do as I say!”

She obliged and then followed her father down, joining him near the body he had just flipped over.

“Winchester,” Benson Hazelhurst muttered, kneeling over his ex-student, who stared up at him now with eyes glazed over by death.

In the center of Winchester’s forehead was a small black hole. It was jagged, as if someone had jammed in a thick Phillips-head screwdriver and twisted it around a bit. Beside the bullet hole’s dried edges, there was no blood.

Hazelhurst’s eyes wandered about. “There should be workers here. Winchester hired over a dozen, perhaps more by the look of things.”

His gaze fell on the rectangular opening that accepted the blowing dust and dirt like a vacuum. The thick stone tablet had obviously been parted from the slot it must have occupied for centuries.

A shuffling from above made Hazelhurst break off his thinking. He grasped Melissa and drew her behind him as he gazed upward into the sun and blowing dirt. A figure was standing at the rim above, directly over the rope ladder.

“Who are you?” Hazelhurst screamed up, while behind him Melissa cursed herself for not bringing a rifle with them from the jeep. “What do you want?”

“Professor Hazelhurst?” the confused reply followed in English.

“Yes,” he yelled, his own echo blown back at him. “Who are you?”

“I am the foreman—Kamir. What has happened?”

Hazelhurst felt himself relax. “You’d better come down here.”

“
Sayin
Winchester sent me to Izmir for more men and—”

“Come down here,” Hazelhurst repeated, “but leave the men up there.”

Kamir said a brief prayer over the body.

“Who did this to him?” he asked, looking up at Hazelhurst and Melissa.

“I thought it might have been you.”

Kamir’s eyes bulged indignantly. “No,
Sayin
Hazelhurst. I left
Sayin
Winchester here and went to hire new workmen after the others fled this morning.”

“Fled? Why?”

Kamir gestured toward the massive tablet. “The work frightened them. The warning …”

Hazelhurst exchanged glances with Melissa and then moved toward the tablet. With his hand he brushed away the dust and dirt that had collected atop it and traced the carvings with his fingers as well as his eyes.

“I’ve seen this before—only a few times, but I recognize it. Dates back to an ancient religion that predates Christianity by over a thousand years.”

“One of the men who fled insisted the words were a warning, that we had already gone too far and must turn back before it was too late.”

“And then they fled.”

Kamir’s eyes darted briefly to the rectangular opening. “But not before
Sayin
Winchester ordered us to move the tablet. They were gone in the morning.” His eyes grew fearful. “I do not blame them.”

“Why, Kamir?”

“It, it is difficult to explain,
Sayin.
”

“Just out with it, then.”

Kamir’s lips trembled. “When the tablet was moved, I … felt something.”

“Felt what?”

He shrugged. “I … do not know. It brushed by me, icy and hot at the same time.”

Hazelhurst looked at the guide very closely. “Did you share this with Winchester?”

Kamir shrugged. “I did not have to,
Sayin
Hazelhurst—he felt it, too.”

“And then?”

“This morning
Sayin
Winchester sent me to get new workers.” Kamir’s voice lowered. “I left him here alone. If I had stayed …”

“You drove off in one of the vehicles.”

Kamir looked confused. “We’ve only had the one truck, since the other broke down last week.”

A chill swept through Hazelhurst. “That jeep not far from the rim …”

“I thought it was yours,
Sayin.
”

Hazelhurst turned to Melissa, his eyes speaking for him.

“
Sayin
Hazelhurst, what is it? You must tell me.”

“Winchester’s killers must have come here in it,” Hazelhurst said to his daughter.

Kamir felt for the sheathed knife wedged through his belt. “Then where are they,
Sayin
Hazelhurst?”

The old man’s eyes moved to the opening in the earth that Winchester seemed to have been clutching for as he died.

“Let’s get the equipment,” he said to Melissa.

“Dad, you’re not going to—”

“Yes, Daughter,” he interrupted, still peering downward. “I am.”

Chapter 7

“
NOW, DAUGHTER
,”
BENSON HAZELHURST
said two hours later, “you’re quite sure you don’t want me to strap a ray gun onto my side?”

“What I want,” Melissa Hazelhurst told her father, “is for you not to go down there at all. If you’re right about what this place is, you can’t go down until you’ve had time to take precautions, obtain the proper equipment.”

Hazelhurst couldn’t believe his ears. “More equipment than we have already? What more could we need?”

“Please, not another speech about finding the treasures of Tunis with a pickax and a chisel.”

“As I recall, it was a hammer.”

“You know what I mean.”

“What I know is that a dozen workmen ran away from here this morning, which means that the truth of this find will be all over Turkey by tomorrow at the latest. This place will be swarming with curiosity seekers and tourists mucking about. I can’t have that. I’ve worked too long to take that risk.”

“The biggest risk lies in going down there.”

The old man’s face softened. “My last dig, Melly. Let me retire to the drudgery of academia with memories of my own choosing. Now, are you ready yet or not?”

Melissa was too busy checking the volume meters on her recording equipment to pay his remark any heed. She slid the headphones briefly off her ears.

“Would you mind repeating that, Father?”

Benson Hazelhurst merely raised his eyebrows in response. He knew he must look as absurd as he felt, far more like an astronaut than a sixty-nine-year-old professor of archaeology. The white suit covering him from neck to foot was thermally warmed and cooled, adjusted automatically by body temperature. An oxygen tank with a twenty-minute supply was strapped to his back. The hose running from it snaked up over his shoulder and finished in a mask attached to his equipment vest at lapel level. The vest was equipped with special pockets that held two flashlights angled downward to provide as good a view of his descent as possible without tying up his hands. He would need them to steady himself and feel his way in the darkness for walls and corners, Melissa knew.

Her father’s helmet, meanwhile, looked at first glance like a motorcyclist’s. Actually, though, it was equipped with an infrared visor to maximize vision. And built into its crown was a miniature video camera that, over a limited range, would beam pictures of everything he saw up to a recorder at ground level. This would allow her to monitor his progress, as well as preserve the step-by-step process of whatever he uncovered.

His gloves were reinforced with Kevlar to prevent scrapes to his hands. His shoes were fitted with special rubberized soles that prevented slipping when the total weight of the wearer was brought to bear. A microphone and receiver were built into his helmet.

“I feel like a fool.” Hazelhurst sighed.

“A safe fool.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t forget, I’m bringing you up at the first sign of trouble.”

“Then you’re still expecting some.”

“Whoever killed Winchester must have run into it.”

Her father seemed maddeningly unmoved. “Perhaps.”

“Knowledge won’t protect you, Father.”

“Ignorance couldn’t have helped those who descended before me.”

“Turn around,” Melissa ordered.

As he crouched at the edge of the chasm, she fastened the winch holds into the two slots in her father’s vest, which was tailored for them. The winch apparatus would serve as Hazelhurst’s express elevator up when it came time for his return, or in the event of trouble. It would also lower him at a slow, careful pace that he could control with a remote transistor box. Additionally, the mechanism was fitted with mercury switches that snapped the line taut in the event of a sudden drop, responding much faster than the reflexes of any standard line bearers could ever hope to.

“I think I’m ready, then,” Hazelhurst said, and pushed the helmet tight over his head.

With his visor still raised, he swung round and eased his legs into the chasm ahead of him. Melissa touched him on the cheek and lowered his visor.

“Keep in touch,” she said.

“I suspect you’ll be sick and tired of my voice before this day is over,” Hazelhurst answered, and then lowered himself into the darkness.

Melissa returned to her machines instantly, searching out the comfort and security they provided. Throughout the two hours of setup and preparation, she had been haunted by memories of childhood nightmares of monsters with spade-claw hands. She was only three, almost four, when they started. Night after night she would wake up screaming. Her mother would come into the room and still her trembling. In between the tears, Melissa would tell her about the monsters. They weren’t real, her mother would say. They were just the product of dreams.

Dream Dragons.

And one night when the nightmares came, she didn’t cry out to her mother. Another night, she woke up without screaming. Then, finally, the nightmares stopped altogether.

But today, strangely, the memory of them had returned.

“Can you hear me, Daddy?”

“Not so loud, Daughter, please. And don’t call me ‘Daddy’ on a tape with historic implications.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m kidding. How’s the picture coming through?”

“Darker than expected. I can hardly see.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“To view a finished tape, yes, but not while monitoring.”

“Oh,” Benson Hazelhurst said.

Before her, the red level indicator on her sound meter dipped and darted with the sounds of her father chuckling. All her machines, in fact, were working, but Melissa nonetheless sat amidst them feeling helpless. The workmen continued to stand guard on the ground above, all too happy to remain as far away from the find as possible. Only the two Kamir trusted the most and Kamir himself were down here with her, on the chance that the winch needed to be operated manually.

“How far down am I?” her father wanted to know.

A counter with an LED readout rigged to the winch was there to tell her. “Fifteen feet. My screen is just about black. What do you see?”

“Dead space. Wide open. Nothing to the sides or below I can make anything out of, except for the fact …”

Melissa’s heart skipped a beat. “What was that? You broke up.”

“No, I just stopped talking.” Her father’s rapid breathing filled her ears. This was taking far too great a strain on him. “Wanted to make sure of myself before I spoke. I’m sure now. This cavern is perfectly rectangular, as I suspected. Twenty feet by fifteen would be a fair estimation. The wall I’m up against has a hewn feel to it. Aren’t you getting any of this?”

Melissa slid closer to the screen and squinted. “Not enough,” she replied. “Did you say hewn?”

Again his rapid breathing preceded his sharp retort. “Where’s your textbook knowledge, Daughter? This must be some sort of overchamber carved out by those who years ago sought the same thing we do. We’re not the first ones who have been here.”

“Your theories …”

“Fits right into them. The actual doorway was discovered and barricaded thousands of years ago.”

There was a brief thud over the monitoring equipment as he at last struck bottom. Melissa caught a brief glimpse of the floor as her father gazed down at it, before his helmet-mounted camera came up again.

“Strange,” he said.

“What?” Melissa followed into her headpiece.

“I’m inspecting the walls. God, I wish you could see this more clearly. Everything’s been filed too clean, too neat. The walls are perfectly symmetrical, right down to the grooves.”

“Impossible!”

“Unless we’ve got our dating wrong.”

Melissa swallowed hard. “Any sign of Winchester’s killers?”

“Nothing. Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Why?”

“Think, Daughter. We know they didn’t leave the site in their vehicle, which means they could only have ventured down here. But since there’s no trace of them …”

“They must have found the passage to the next level down,” Melissa completed.

“No wonder you were the finest student I ever had.”

“I thought Winchester was.”

Benson Hazelhurst’s reply was to begin a careful, systematic check of the walls and floors in search of the entrance to the next level. Melissa followed his progress as best she could, finding herself increasingly anxious over the lack of a decent picture. Next time, she would have to come up with a way to create a wider beam of focused light. …

“Wait a minute,” Melissa heard her father say, “I found something.”

“What?”

“Piece of clothing. From a jacket, I think. Or a vest like mine.”

“One of Winchester’s killers?”

“I’m in the far southwest corner. Walls feel the same as they did on the other side.”

“Yes. That much I can see. If you could just—”

The picture blurred, faded, sharpened briefly again.

“I’m going at them with my file. The finish isn’t as gritty or chalky, and it feels damper. I’m going to try something.”

“What, Father? What are you going to try?”

“Hush, Daughter. I’m not so old that I can’t exert a little pressure.”

The sound of his labored breathing filled her ears, followed by soft, shallow grunts. Then there was a rumbling, like the sound of heavy furniture being dragged over a floor. On the screen before her, Melissa could make out a segment of the wall shifting inward.

“That’s got it!” Hazelhurst’s tired voice beamed.

Melissa squinted again, fighting to see what he saw. “The passageway to the next level,” she realized.