Chapter Five
John Reid hadn't sweated this much since misplacing his water bottle in Palestine. That had been a singularly unpleasant experience, but there had been no suspense; he’d known that he would either find water or die. It was that simple. None of this uncertainty, wondering what a couple of sadistic monsters were going to do with him and his companion whom they had already beaten half to death.
By his estimation he had five minutes left, and he'd accomplished nothing. He hadn't expected to. The diary was three years' worth of entries and there wasn't a hope of reading it through in the time available, so he'd skimmed it as slowly as he dared, looking for any mention of anything to do with the Roman Catholic Church. There were many, and none of them so far had mentioned a specific cathedral or described one he could pinpoint on the map. Heck, the cathedral with the sword might not even exist anymore. It might have been destroyed centuries ago. Wouldn't that be funny.
“You okay, Manuel?” he asked his new friend for about the fifth time.
“I’m alive, Señor Reid,” Manuel said from the floor where he still lay. “The pain is getting more bearable by the minute.”
“Yeah, well, don't count on that trend for much longer,” Reid said. “I can't make heads or tails of this. Even with all the time in the world, there's no way of knowing if the information they want is even in here. Which is why, if you're well enough to move, I suggest we make another escape attempt as soon as they come back in here.”
“They’re probably listening outside the door right now.”
“Good for them. Look,” Reid, said and he barely stopped himself from throwing the valuable artifact to the floor in frustration, “it's our only chance. They're going to come in here, and we won't have what they want, and they're going to do something horrible to us. That's what they wanted to begin with. I don't know if they even care about the sword. I don’t know if –”
“Did you think to pray?”
Reid's mind and body both froze. He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, I –”
“It is a common flaw of man to rely too heavily on one's own mind and abilities. All of us need to humble ourselves more and put our trust in the Lord.”
“Great, and now it's almost literally the last minute that we're coming to Him. He probably won't be thrilled about that. Well, here goes. Um, out loud do you think, or –?”
“In your head, and then we can each say one.”
“Great.” Reid got down on his knees, then got back up and went to help Manuel when he saw the Spaniard was struggling to do the same. Though it was visibly painful and probably unhealthy, Reid didn’t discourage him. Right now they needed all the piety they could get.
On his own knees once again, Reid folded his arms, bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Dear God, he began, Please tell us which cathedral the sword is supposed to be in. If not, I'm going to have to lie to them and hope we can escape before they find out and the consequences are worse. I don't want to lie, but I will if it comes to that. Please deliver us so I don’t have to. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He opened his eyes, sprang to his feet and opened the diary again. He noticed that Manuel was still praying. He knew that the Catholic was praying to a Saint, probably the Virgin Mary herself for a matter as serious as this, because he didn’t believe that mankind was worthy to communicate directly with God.
Reid looked at the diary and started skimming again. He didn't expect a voice saying “Turn to page 463” or something, but as the seconds zipped by and he didn't feel even an inkling of inspiration, he began to sweat again. Still nothing, still not a clue, not one that he could discern anyway. Not even a calming influence that everything was going to be all right. Even if everything wasn't going to be all right, a misleading comfort would be better than nothing.
The tension didn't last long. The door swung open and their tormentors walked in with an air of smugness and anticipation. “Hello again, Professor,” said one. “I trust you've figured out the information we need?”
This was it, then. He had to decide quickly whether to lie through his teeth, or charge them and try to escape again. They didn't even have their guns out this time, though their hands were close to the pockets that held them. Maybe he could take them both out fast enough. He was less brawny than Manuel, but more agile, and –
“The cathedral of San Teodoro,” Manuel said.
All three of them looked at him in surprise. He had finished his prayer and somehow gotten back onto his feet. His voice, and his gaze, held complete confidence. “The sword is under the cathedral of San Teodoro,” he repeated. “My grandfather often spoke highly of that Saint. He has long been reverenced in our family.”
“Indeed?” said one of the men, not trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “All right, then. We are men of our word and we won't go through with our little fun. Unless, of course, we find out you're lying to us.”
“I'm not worried. I am a man of my word, as well.”
“Very well then. Show us on the map.”
Manuel picked up the map and pointed to the cathedral on it as Reid stared, trying to suppress his shock. Not only did Manuel act as if he was no longer in pain, but he spoke as if he knew what he was talking about. Was he a really good poker player, or had God answered his prayer in a big way?
“All right,” said one of the men, “let's not waste any more time getting there. I trust you boys won't make a scene once we're outside. Things could get even more dangerous for civilians around here if we were to have trouble aiming our guns.”
Even more dangerous... “Let me see that,” Reid said, grabbing the map from Manuel. His eyes darted to the spot he had pointed to, then to the area around it, and – “Aw, you have to be kidding,” he said. “That's only three blocks away from the Alcázar de Toledo.”
“And?”
“And? There's a siege going on there, a siege that's part of a nationwide civil war!”
“Hmm, well, you should have thought of that before you came to visit. Come on, both of you, let's go.” The men took out their Webleys again.
They all left the broom closet and Reid saw that they were in an abandoned warehouse of some sort. How original, he thought. Judging by the amount of dust and cobwebs covering the boxes of whatever was stored here, he gauged that it had only been abandoned for a few years. The company had probably been hit hard by the Depression.
He started leaning over to read the label of one of the boxes, but found himself whacked across the back of the head with the butt of a gun. “Keep moving,” said a voice behind him. “No funny business.”
The emerged into the sunlight and Reid was momentarily blinded, but decided against stopping for a chance to adjust. Within a minute the streets of Toledo came into focus. He had seen them in photographs, but black and white didn't do them justice. Although the colors weren't particularly striking – pastel blues and tans, mostly – they were beautiful. Like Lugo, the architecture hearkened to a previous age, and it displayed Christian, Jewish, and Muslim influences. The streets themselves were narrow and cobblestoned.
No one was out to disturb the men in strange robes holding other men at gunpoint. The city echoed with their footsteps, as if a ghost town. But soon another sound could be heard mixed in with that – gunfire. They were drawing closer to the Alcázar and its associated violence. When they emerged into a square they could see it, sitting on the horizon, looking for all the world like an abandoned relic. It reminded Reid of the temple in Salt Lake City but had shorter spires and was made of different materials. And, though it had been renovated in 1535, it now looked much the worse for wear even from this distance.
“We should be fine,” said one of their captors. “We'll take a shortcut and go in the cathedral from the back. If one of you takes a bullet, then we'll call this off.”
“It's good to know you have everyone's best interests in mind,” Reid said.
“We try our best.”
“Why is this so important that it can't wait for a more convenient time, anyway?”
“Ha ha! Sure, we'll tell you our whole plan, just like that. Suffice it to say that there's more at stake than you realize.”
“I kind of figured something big was going on. The fact that you know about this sword, let alone believe in it, is something I don't see every day.”
They had been talking in English, but Manuel had recognized the word “sword”. “What is this sword?” he asked Reid in Spanish. “I know only what was in the diary and what they told me about your research paper, which wasn't much.”
“It's just an ancient sword,” he said. “Significant to a small American religion, but I don't understand how anyone else would care this much. It's never been reputed to have any powers other than symbolic, so I don't see how it would help them with their sinister plan.”
“Oh yes, these people called you a 'Latter-day Saint'. Is that your religion? What is that?”
“Well, it’s not my religion, I just work with them. There aren't any in Spain. But maybe you've heard of them; usually people call them 'Mormons'. Sound familiar?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Ah. Well, we can have a great theological discussion when we're out of this war zone, eh? If we get out...”
“We will. This is the right building, I am sure of it.”
Reid didn't know whether or not their captors understood Spanish, but assumed they did by virtue of the facts that they had been assigned here and didn't suspect him and Manuel right now of plotting escape or something. In either case he decided not to risk asking Manuel how he could be so certain. Maybe it was all a bluff. Maybe the Spaniard had a plan in mind, or maybe he was just prolonging the inevitable.
They entered the cathedral and paused to admire its interior. Although they’d come in behind the altar and thus had most of their view blocked, they could see the high-arching ceiling painted with Saints and biblical figures in post-Renaissance style. The Sistine chapel it was not, but impressive nonetheless.
“What's with all the nudity?” demanded one of the thugs. “Is this a church or a brothel?”
“It was probably inspired by Michelangelo's work,” Reid said, “although it isn't nearly as good. Pope Julius II wasn't thrilled about the idea either when it first came up, but it has to do with Agony and Ecstasy
“Nah,” said the other thug, “Michelangelo and this guy were probably both just perverts. Anyway, come on, let's get to what we came here for.”
They stepped around the altar to see the expanse of the hall. They could see that between pillars of alabaster, the scenes on the ceiling extended down the walls.
“A-hem.”
The four interlopers nearly jumped out of their skins. They hadn't noticed the old priest kneeling in front of the altar. He looked old enough to have been present when the cathedral was built, but made no attempt to hide his annoyance and somehow managed to be intimidating as he rose to his feet.
“Can I help you?” he demanded.
“Maybe you can,” said one of the thugs, as both Smith and Wessons came up to point at the priest. “If you know of a secret room, or compartment, or any place where something valuable might be hidden, then you can tell us now. And I suggest you do.”
Manuel and Reid glanced at each other incredulously. As if it could be that easy, their glances said to each other.
But the old man nodded warily. “Yes, yes, we have one of those here,” he said. “There's nothing –”
“Show us!”
“What are you looking for?”
“That's none of your concern, old man. You probably know better than we do. Now show us, if you want to pray another day!”
The priest eyed the barrels of the guns with neither fear nor a great deal of interest, then at the two men who were obviously here as captives. He let out a heavy sigh that seemed to drain the life from him. Then he gestured with a hand to the middle of the cathedral floor. “Right there,” he said.
“You'll have to be clearer than that.”
The priest sighed again, crossed himself, and walked to the indicated spot. He walked slowly, hunched over, and even with their faces covered it was obvious that the thugs were fuming with impatience. They matched his gait with a trace of mockery, prodding Manuel and Reid to stay in front of them.
The priest stopped and gestured to the ground once again. “There,” he said. “Beneath that floor tile. It should come right up, but I haven't the strength to lift it.”
“No problem,” said a thug, “that's why we've brought help.” The guns were on their original prisoners again. “Let's go, fellows.”
Manuel and Reid knelt down on either side of the tile and struggled to get their fingernails under the edges. It wasn't as easy a task as the priest had implied, but presently they managed, and then with a chorus of grunts they forced their fingers in further and gained the leverage to lift it up and out. Cold air and a musty smell rushed from the darkness they had revealed.
“Excellent,” said one of the thugs. “Now, professor, I'd imagine you've had the most experience with caves and secret chambers and so forth. You may go first.”
“A flashlight would be nice,” Reid said. “Or a torch, at least.”
“They’re one and the same in England.” With his free hand, one of the figures reached into a pocket of his robe and retrieved a flashlight. “Catch,” he said, tossing it over.
Reid grabbed it, flipped it on, and shone it down into the darkness. A dusty stone floor was revealed about six feet below, barely enough in any case for a grown man to stand up. He stuck the flashlight and his head in the hole and peered around. The chamber appeared to extend about ten feet in every direction, but was devoid of any visible outstanding features.
“No booby traps?” said the thug. “Then get down there, while we're still younger than this guy.”
Reid lowered himself down and paced a bit to get a feel for the room. There still didn't seem to be anything special about it. Manuel was sent down after him and, when it became apparent that they were safe, one of the thugs followed.
The remaining hooded figure hesitated, then gestured to the hole with his gun. “You get down there too, old man,” he said. “We can't have you running off and squealing on us.”
“Why would I do that?” the priest said in exasperation. “Your presence here is rude and unwelcome, but I don't particularly care if you want to check out that decrepit hole.”
Something occurred to the thug just as his companion called out from below, “There's nothing down here!”
“Of course there isn't,” the priest said.
“Yes, of course there isn't,” repeated Jorge, face-palming himself. “Stupid, stupid! Of course if you knew about this chamber, there wouldn't be anything valuable left in it. So where's the sword?”
“I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.”
“Look again,” Juan commanded Reid. “There must be something to this place besides solid rock. Otherwise, what's the point of it being here?”
“Surely you don't expect me to know everything,” Reid snapped, but he ran his fingers over the wall anyway. They came away with a layer of dust and there on the rock, etched in charcoal, he saw graffiti. Graffiti written in Hebrew.
He tried to hide his discovery, but Juan had been watching like a hawk and already noticed. “What does that say?” he demanded.
“I don't know,” Reid said. He wiped away more dust until he could see the entire message. “Something about deliverance being nigh,” he said. “I don't know exactly. I'd need a dictionary to make certain.”
“It's gibberish to me,” said Manuel.
There was a scuffing noise behind them, and they turned to see the priest being lowered down by Jorge, who jumped down after him. “Then you tell us,” Jorge demanded of the priest, “what does that say?”
“Search the rest of the wall,” Juan ordered Reid.
Reid wiped dust from the surrounding area, moving outward in a circle, and quickly discovered that Hebraic messages were scrawled everywhere. The priest didn't even look at them. “I don't know a word of Hebrew,” he said emotionlessly. “Spanish, French, English, German and Latin, yes. But no Hebrew.”
“Then how do you even know this is Hebrew?” Juan said. “None of us said anything about that.”
“A lucky guess,” the priest said, “because this chamber used to hold Jews.”
He had everyone's attention now, but showed no inclination to say anything further.
“Look, old man,” Jorge said, waving his gun, “you'd better start being more cooperative. We're starting to lose our patience.”
The priest sighed and crossed himself once again, and explained. “During the Inquisition,” he said, “a priest of this cathedral carved out this chamber and hid any Jews he could find in it. That's all, really. By the time he was caught they had all been smuggled to safety. They must have been very bored down here and I don't blame them for writing on the walls. If anything valuable was down here, one of them must have taken it.”
“But if the chamber was carved for them,” Reid said, “then there couldn't have been anything hidden here earlier.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” the priest said. “I certainly know of nothing. You folks mentioned a sword – what's that all about? What's so special about a sword?”
“That's none of your concern,” Jorge said. “Now tell us, is there anywhere else in this cathedral, anywhere at all, that a treasure might be hidden?”
“None that I know of. We prefer to keep our treasures on full display, to glorify our God.”
“What was the name of the priest who hid the Jews down here?” Reid asked.
“Um, let me think… Alejandro Vasquez, or something like that. But that's all I know about him.”
“Then you have outlived your usefulness,” Jorge said, and shot the priest point-blank in the back.
With the blast noise in the confined space of the cavern, Reid and Manuel felt as if their heads had exploded, but the hooded figures didn’t seem to be affected. The old man gaped at them, then seemed to smirk before his knees folded and he flopped over onto his face.
“We should have kept him alive a while longer,” Juan said, as if discussing a political issue he was uninformed on and didn't much care about.
“Perhaps,” Jorge said, “but anything that old git knew, our resident archaeologist can find out for us. Besides, I'm fairly certain this is a dead end.”
“You heartless bastards,” Reid said, his ears still ringing.
“I second that,” Manuel said. “This man was no threat to you. Neither was my wife. I still haven't forgotten what you did to my wife.”
“Calm down,” Jorge said. “It wouldn't have suited our purposes for this man to spread the word about our presence here and get the entire Catholic Church breathing down our necks. If they find out about the sword they'll stake a claim for sure. It was one of their conquistadors who took it.”
“The Pope has bigger concerns to deal with right now,” Manuel said.
“Of course he does, but I didn't feel like taking that chance.” Jorge looked around the cave and the writing on the walls. “All right, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to come back with a Hebrew dictionary and make absolutely certain this has no bearing on our search. Let's make it quick.” He grabbed the lip of the hole above. “Boost me up,” he ordered.
Manuel and Reid did so, sharing a look that said they both would rather be boosting him straight to hell. Then he helped them up after him, and Juan followed. Gesturing with his gun, he made his next order clear without words. Manuel and Reid returned the missing floor tile to its position, sealing the corpse of the unfortunate priest within, at least until their return.
“Excellent,” said Jorge. “I see you’ve both learned to cooperate by now. If you keep it up, you might not end up like him for a while yet.”
They moved back behind the altar and headed outside the way they had come. The gunfire outside was much louder now, and Juan barely had time to jump back as a stray bullet ripped up the cobblestone at his feet.
Next (kind of): Epilogue
By his estimation he had five minutes left, and he'd accomplished nothing. He hadn't expected to. The diary was three years' worth of entries and there wasn't a hope of reading it through in the time available, so he'd skimmed it as slowly as he dared, looking for any mention of anything to do with the Roman Catholic Church. There were many, and none of them so far had mentioned a specific cathedral or described one he could pinpoint on the map. Heck, the cathedral with the sword might not even exist anymore. It might have been destroyed centuries ago. Wouldn't that be funny.
“You okay, Manuel?” he asked his new friend for about the fifth time.
“I’m alive, Señor Reid,” Manuel said from the floor where he still lay. “The pain is getting more bearable by the minute.”
“Yeah, well, don't count on that trend for much longer,” Reid said. “I can't make heads or tails of this. Even with all the time in the world, there's no way of knowing if the information they want is even in here. Which is why, if you're well enough to move, I suggest we make another escape attempt as soon as they come back in here.”
“They’re probably listening outside the door right now.”
“Good for them. Look,” Reid, said and he barely stopped himself from throwing the valuable artifact to the floor in frustration, “it's our only chance. They're going to come in here, and we won't have what they want, and they're going to do something horrible to us. That's what they wanted to begin with. I don't know if they even care about the sword. I don’t know if –”
“Did you think to pray?”
Reid's mind and body both froze. He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, I –”
“It is a common flaw of man to rely too heavily on one's own mind and abilities. All of us need to humble ourselves more and put our trust in the Lord.”
“Great, and now it's almost literally the last minute that we're coming to Him. He probably won't be thrilled about that. Well, here goes. Um, out loud do you think, or –?”
“In your head, and then we can each say one.”
“Great.” Reid got down on his knees, then got back up and went to help Manuel when he saw the Spaniard was struggling to do the same. Though it was visibly painful and probably unhealthy, Reid didn’t discourage him. Right now they needed all the piety they could get.
On his own knees once again, Reid folded his arms, bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Dear God, he began, Please tell us which cathedral the sword is supposed to be in. If not, I'm going to have to lie to them and hope we can escape before they find out and the consequences are worse. I don't want to lie, but I will if it comes to that. Please deliver us so I don’t have to. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He opened his eyes, sprang to his feet and opened the diary again. He noticed that Manuel was still praying. He knew that the Catholic was praying to a Saint, probably the Virgin Mary herself for a matter as serious as this, because he didn’t believe that mankind was worthy to communicate directly with God.
Reid looked at the diary and started skimming again. He didn't expect a voice saying “Turn to page 463” or something, but as the seconds zipped by and he didn't feel even an inkling of inspiration, he began to sweat again. Still nothing, still not a clue, not one that he could discern anyway. Not even a calming influence that everything was going to be all right. Even if everything wasn't going to be all right, a misleading comfort would be better than nothing.
The tension didn't last long. The door swung open and their tormentors walked in with an air of smugness and anticipation. “Hello again, Professor,” said one. “I trust you've figured out the information we need?”
This was it, then. He had to decide quickly whether to lie through his teeth, or charge them and try to escape again. They didn't even have their guns out this time, though their hands were close to the pockets that held them. Maybe he could take them both out fast enough. He was less brawny than Manuel, but more agile, and –
“The cathedral of San Teodoro,” Manuel said.
All three of them looked at him in surprise. He had finished his prayer and somehow gotten back onto his feet. His voice, and his gaze, held complete confidence. “The sword is under the cathedral of San Teodoro,” he repeated. “My grandfather often spoke highly of that Saint. He has long been reverenced in our family.”
“Indeed?” said one of the men, not trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “All right, then. We are men of our word and we won't go through with our little fun. Unless, of course, we find out you're lying to us.”
“I'm not worried. I am a man of my word, as well.”
“Very well then. Show us on the map.”
Manuel picked up the map and pointed to the cathedral on it as Reid stared, trying to suppress his shock. Not only did Manuel act as if he was no longer in pain, but he spoke as if he knew what he was talking about. Was he a really good poker player, or had God answered his prayer in a big way?
“All right,” said one of the men, “let's not waste any more time getting there. I trust you boys won't make a scene once we're outside. Things could get even more dangerous for civilians around here if we were to have trouble aiming our guns.”
Even more dangerous... “Let me see that,” Reid said, grabbing the map from Manuel. His eyes darted to the spot he had pointed to, then to the area around it, and – “Aw, you have to be kidding,” he said. “That's only three blocks away from the Alcázar de Toledo.”
“And?”
“And? There's a siege going on there, a siege that's part of a nationwide civil war!”
“Hmm, well, you should have thought of that before you came to visit. Come on, both of you, let's go.” The men took out their Webleys again.
They all left the broom closet and Reid saw that they were in an abandoned warehouse of some sort. How original, he thought. Judging by the amount of dust and cobwebs covering the boxes of whatever was stored here, he gauged that it had only been abandoned for a few years. The company had probably been hit hard by the Depression.
He started leaning over to read the label of one of the boxes, but found himself whacked across the back of the head with the butt of a gun. “Keep moving,” said a voice behind him. “No funny business.”
The emerged into the sunlight and Reid was momentarily blinded, but decided against stopping for a chance to adjust. Within a minute the streets of Toledo came into focus. He had seen them in photographs, but black and white didn't do them justice. Although the colors weren't particularly striking – pastel blues and tans, mostly – they were beautiful. Like Lugo, the architecture hearkened to a previous age, and it displayed Christian, Jewish, and Muslim influences. The streets themselves were narrow and cobblestoned.
No one was out to disturb the men in strange robes holding other men at gunpoint. The city echoed with their footsteps, as if a ghost town. But soon another sound could be heard mixed in with that – gunfire. They were drawing closer to the Alcázar and its associated violence. When they emerged into a square they could see it, sitting on the horizon, looking for all the world like an abandoned relic. It reminded Reid of the temple in Salt Lake City but had shorter spires and was made of different materials. And, though it had been renovated in 1535, it now looked much the worse for wear even from this distance.
“We should be fine,” said one of their captors. “We'll take a shortcut and go in the cathedral from the back. If one of you takes a bullet, then we'll call this off.”
“It's good to know you have everyone's best interests in mind,” Reid said.
“We try our best.”
“Why is this so important that it can't wait for a more convenient time, anyway?”
“Ha ha! Sure, we'll tell you our whole plan, just like that. Suffice it to say that there's more at stake than you realize.”
“I kind of figured something big was going on. The fact that you know about this sword, let alone believe in it, is something I don't see every day.”
They had been talking in English, but Manuel had recognized the word “sword”. “What is this sword?” he asked Reid in Spanish. “I know only what was in the diary and what they told me about your research paper, which wasn't much.”
“It's just an ancient sword,” he said. “Significant to a small American religion, but I don't understand how anyone else would care this much. It's never been reputed to have any powers other than symbolic, so I don't see how it would help them with their sinister plan.”
“Oh yes, these people called you a 'Latter-day Saint'. Is that your religion? What is that?”
“Well, it’s not my religion, I just work with them. There aren't any in Spain. But maybe you've heard of them; usually people call them 'Mormons'. Sound familiar?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Ah. Well, we can have a great theological discussion when we're out of this war zone, eh? If we get out...”
“We will. This is the right building, I am sure of it.”
Reid didn't know whether or not their captors understood Spanish, but assumed they did by virtue of the facts that they had been assigned here and didn't suspect him and Manuel right now of plotting escape or something. In either case he decided not to risk asking Manuel how he could be so certain. Maybe it was all a bluff. Maybe the Spaniard had a plan in mind, or maybe he was just prolonging the inevitable.
They entered the cathedral and paused to admire its interior. Although they’d come in behind the altar and thus had most of their view blocked, they could see the high-arching ceiling painted with Saints and biblical figures in post-Renaissance style. The Sistine chapel it was not, but impressive nonetheless.
“What's with all the nudity?” demanded one of the thugs. “Is this a church or a brothel?”
“It was probably inspired by Michelangelo's work,” Reid said, “although it isn't nearly as good. Pope Julius II wasn't thrilled about the idea either when it first came up, but it has to do with Agony and Ecstasy
“Nah,” said the other thug, “Michelangelo and this guy were probably both just perverts. Anyway, come on, let's get to what we came here for.”
They stepped around the altar to see the expanse of the hall. They could see that between pillars of alabaster, the scenes on the ceiling extended down the walls.
“A-hem.”
The four interlopers nearly jumped out of their skins. They hadn't noticed the old priest kneeling in front of the altar. He looked old enough to have been present when the cathedral was built, but made no attempt to hide his annoyance and somehow managed to be intimidating as he rose to his feet.
“Can I help you?” he demanded.
“Maybe you can,” said one of the thugs, as both Smith and Wessons came up to point at the priest. “If you know of a secret room, or compartment, or any place where something valuable might be hidden, then you can tell us now. And I suggest you do.”
Manuel and Reid glanced at each other incredulously. As if it could be that easy, their glances said to each other.
But the old man nodded warily. “Yes, yes, we have one of those here,” he said. “There's nothing –”
“Show us!”
“What are you looking for?”
“That's none of your concern, old man. You probably know better than we do. Now show us, if you want to pray another day!”
The priest eyed the barrels of the guns with neither fear nor a great deal of interest, then at the two men who were obviously here as captives. He let out a heavy sigh that seemed to drain the life from him. Then he gestured with a hand to the middle of the cathedral floor. “Right there,” he said.
“You'll have to be clearer than that.”
The priest sighed again, crossed himself, and walked to the indicated spot. He walked slowly, hunched over, and even with their faces covered it was obvious that the thugs were fuming with impatience. They matched his gait with a trace of mockery, prodding Manuel and Reid to stay in front of them.
The priest stopped and gestured to the ground once again. “There,” he said. “Beneath that floor tile. It should come right up, but I haven't the strength to lift it.”
“No problem,” said a thug, “that's why we've brought help.” The guns were on their original prisoners again. “Let's go, fellows.”
Manuel and Reid knelt down on either side of the tile and struggled to get their fingernails under the edges. It wasn't as easy a task as the priest had implied, but presently they managed, and then with a chorus of grunts they forced their fingers in further and gained the leverage to lift it up and out. Cold air and a musty smell rushed from the darkness they had revealed.
“Excellent,” said one of the thugs. “Now, professor, I'd imagine you've had the most experience with caves and secret chambers and so forth. You may go first.”
“A flashlight would be nice,” Reid said. “Or a torch, at least.”
“They’re one and the same in England.” With his free hand, one of the figures reached into a pocket of his robe and retrieved a flashlight. “Catch,” he said, tossing it over.
Reid grabbed it, flipped it on, and shone it down into the darkness. A dusty stone floor was revealed about six feet below, barely enough in any case for a grown man to stand up. He stuck the flashlight and his head in the hole and peered around. The chamber appeared to extend about ten feet in every direction, but was devoid of any visible outstanding features.
“No booby traps?” said the thug. “Then get down there, while we're still younger than this guy.”
Reid lowered himself down and paced a bit to get a feel for the room. There still didn't seem to be anything special about it. Manuel was sent down after him and, when it became apparent that they were safe, one of the thugs followed.
The remaining hooded figure hesitated, then gestured to the hole with his gun. “You get down there too, old man,” he said. “We can't have you running off and squealing on us.”
“Why would I do that?” the priest said in exasperation. “Your presence here is rude and unwelcome, but I don't particularly care if you want to check out that decrepit hole.”
Something occurred to the thug just as his companion called out from below, “There's nothing down here!”
“Of course there isn't,” the priest said.
“Yes, of course there isn't,” repeated Jorge, face-palming himself. “Stupid, stupid! Of course if you knew about this chamber, there wouldn't be anything valuable left in it. So where's the sword?”
“I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.”
“Look again,” Juan commanded Reid. “There must be something to this place besides solid rock. Otherwise, what's the point of it being here?”
“Surely you don't expect me to know everything,” Reid snapped, but he ran his fingers over the wall anyway. They came away with a layer of dust and there on the rock, etched in charcoal, he saw graffiti. Graffiti written in Hebrew.
He tried to hide his discovery, but Juan had been watching like a hawk and already noticed. “What does that say?” he demanded.
“I don't know,” Reid said. He wiped away more dust until he could see the entire message. “Something about deliverance being nigh,” he said. “I don't know exactly. I'd need a dictionary to make certain.”
“It's gibberish to me,” said Manuel.
There was a scuffing noise behind them, and they turned to see the priest being lowered down by Jorge, who jumped down after him. “Then you tell us,” Jorge demanded of the priest, “what does that say?”
“Search the rest of the wall,” Juan ordered Reid.
Reid wiped dust from the surrounding area, moving outward in a circle, and quickly discovered that Hebraic messages were scrawled everywhere. The priest didn't even look at them. “I don't know a word of Hebrew,” he said emotionlessly. “Spanish, French, English, German and Latin, yes. But no Hebrew.”
“Then how do you even know this is Hebrew?” Juan said. “None of us said anything about that.”
“A lucky guess,” the priest said, “because this chamber used to hold Jews.”
He had everyone's attention now, but showed no inclination to say anything further.
“Look, old man,” Jorge said, waving his gun, “you'd better start being more cooperative. We're starting to lose our patience.”
The priest sighed and crossed himself once again, and explained. “During the Inquisition,” he said, “a priest of this cathedral carved out this chamber and hid any Jews he could find in it. That's all, really. By the time he was caught they had all been smuggled to safety. They must have been very bored down here and I don't blame them for writing on the walls. If anything valuable was down here, one of them must have taken it.”
“But if the chamber was carved for them,” Reid said, “then there couldn't have been anything hidden here earlier.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” the priest said. “I certainly know of nothing. You folks mentioned a sword – what's that all about? What's so special about a sword?”
“That's none of your concern,” Jorge said. “Now tell us, is there anywhere else in this cathedral, anywhere at all, that a treasure might be hidden?”
“None that I know of. We prefer to keep our treasures on full display, to glorify our God.”
“What was the name of the priest who hid the Jews down here?” Reid asked.
“Um, let me think… Alejandro Vasquez, or something like that. But that's all I know about him.”
“Then you have outlived your usefulness,” Jorge said, and shot the priest point-blank in the back.
With the blast noise in the confined space of the cavern, Reid and Manuel felt as if their heads had exploded, but the hooded figures didn’t seem to be affected. The old man gaped at them, then seemed to smirk before his knees folded and he flopped over onto his face.
“We should have kept him alive a while longer,” Juan said, as if discussing a political issue he was uninformed on and didn't much care about.
“Perhaps,” Jorge said, “but anything that old git knew, our resident archaeologist can find out for us. Besides, I'm fairly certain this is a dead end.”
“You heartless bastards,” Reid said, his ears still ringing.
“I second that,” Manuel said. “This man was no threat to you. Neither was my wife. I still haven't forgotten what you did to my wife.”
“Calm down,” Jorge said. “It wouldn't have suited our purposes for this man to spread the word about our presence here and get the entire Catholic Church breathing down our necks. If they find out about the sword they'll stake a claim for sure. It was one of their conquistadors who took it.”
“The Pope has bigger concerns to deal with right now,” Manuel said.
“Of course he does, but I didn't feel like taking that chance.” Jorge looked around the cave and the writing on the walls. “All right, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to come back with a Hebrew dictionary and make absolutely certain this has no bearing on our search. Let's make it quick.” He grabbed the lip of the hole above. “Boost me up,” he ordered.
Manuel and Reid did so, sharing a look that said they both would rather be boosting him straight to hell. Then he helped them up after him, and Juan followed. Gesturing with his gun, he made his next order clear without words. Manuel and Reid returned the missing floor tile to its position, sealing the corpse of the unfortunate priest within, at least until their return.
“Excellent,” said Jorge. “I see you’ve both learned to cooperate by now. If you keep it up, you might not end up like him for a while yet.”
They moved back behind the altar and headed outside the way they had come. The gunfire outside was much louder now, and Juan barely had time to jump back as a stray bullet ripped up the cobblestone at his feet.
Next (kind of): Epilogue