Chapter 47
Duncan kept close to the flames, with his feet resting near the fire. He had tugged off his boots and let the heat dry his socks. He luxuriated in the warmth.
Russo had built the campsite inside the hollowed-out tower. Above, snow and wind whipped across a pair of high windows, fierce enough to draft the smoke outward like a chimney.
Though they were exposed to the blizzard beyond the bunker’s main door, the enclosed walls of the tower helped trap in the heat. It had grown so warm that the group had shed their parkas. All their faces shone ruddy from the fire.
Dinner had also been shared. Sausages, hard cheese, and bread. In addition, Russo had brought forth a bottle of wine. Even Sharyn took a splash in the tin cup from Laurent’s camping gear.
Russo finally stood up. “I need to feed Katch, if he’ll eat.” She grabbed a plastic container from her pack. “Raw meat. Best to do it from a distance as it whets his bloodlust. I’ll take him down a level just in case.”
Once the woman left with the cat, Sharyn broached the subject she had raised earlier, keeping her voice low and turning to Laurent. “What exactly happened in Libya? What lessons did the Gardiens learn during the recovery of the cache of gold coins?”
Laurent drained his cup. “Foremost, we learned not to discount the cunning of the Confrérie.”
“Who stole the treasure from under you,” Duncan said.
“Yes. While we were transporting the gold out of Africa. The Brotherhood somehow gleaned word of what was aboard our cargo ship. It was raided in the Mediterranean, and the ship hauled to Italy, where Axis forces eventually commandeered the bulk of the ancient coins.”
Duncan frowned. “And you don’t know what happened to it afterward.”
“Throughout the war, the Nazis stole priceless art and treasures, then as the Reich fell, they shipped everything off by truck, boat, and train.” Laurent shrugged.
“We believe the gold ended up in Poland, where it later vanished. Either buried somewhere out there or maybe stolen in turn by the Russian army as it swept through the country.”
Duncan remembered similar stories told to him by his grandfather.
Of jewelry, art, currency, gold—all confiscated by the Germans.
Most of it stolen from the Jewish people.
Additionally, countless cultural artifacts had been removed from occupied countries.
It all got whisked away. Gold was melted into bullion.
Relics and artwork cloaked behind forged documentation.
The treasures ended up being hidden in mines, castles, and bank vaults.
“But going back to your story,” Sharyn pressed Laurent, “how were the coins found? You said the Gardiens deciphered the location from the First Adage, like we did the Second.”
“Indeed.”
Duncan pictured his grandmother’s smiling face. “Using tools devised by the cryptographers at Bletchley Park.”
Laurent nodded. “The site was located in central Libya. About eight hundred kilometers from the coast. Within the spread of a massive dormant volcanic field called the Haruj, which covers forty thousand square kilometers. Large enough to be visible from space.”
Archie winced. “That’s a lot of territory to search.”
“The decryption of the First Adage pointed to a corner of this prehistoric flow, where it had shattered into deep chasms and eroded canyons, an area the Bedouins and other desert peoples eventually used as a mining site. My grandfather joined the expedition to search this region in 1940, during the height of the Western Desert campaign, when British, Italian, Egyptian, and German forces battled fiercely in the area.”
“My grandfather fought in that same desert,” Duncan noted, again feeling the twining of fate. “At the same time, too.”
“And now here we are,” Laurent said. “Continuing in their footsteps.”
Duncan shivered despite the campfire’s heat.
Sharyn shifted this narrative forward. “Back to the lava field. What did your grandfather say about the discovery of the treasure? Did he give any details? Any clues that could help us here.”
“Less clues than warnings.”
Archie shifted straighter. “What do you mean?”
“It took the team a month to uncover a hidden vault deep in a series of lava tubes. Especially as the group had to be careful of boobytraps left to protect the site from errant trespassers.”
Sharyn glanced into the depths of the dark bunker. “What sort of traps?”
“Rockfalls, spiked pits. Even the treasure vault itself had an insidious pressure-triggered setup. When removing the gold, the entire cavern nearly caved in. Only the timely repositioning of a heavy ore cart stopped this from happening.”
Duncan shared a worried look with the others. “If the same’s true here, the Axis forces who refurbished this place might’ve inadvertently triggered one of those traps. It could’ve destroyed the entrance.”
“I can’t discount that. Or that we’re even looking in the right spot.”
“When this vault was eventually found in Libya,” Sharyn asked, “what did the entrance look like? You told us before that Saint-Germain’s book had been needed to open it.”
“That’s true. In deciphering the First Adage, Saint-Germain warned that his book was the doorway’s key.
But he offered no further elaboration. It took weeks before the team stumbled upon a small alcove, carved by hand, in a remote cavern.
My grandfather had walked past it countless times.
He had thought it was a niche for a mining lamp.
But when the team tried to use it as such, they discovered their lamp clung stubbornly to the stone.
Further inspection revealed the rock to be rich in magnetite. ”
“A magnetic ore,” Sharyn whispered.
Laurent nodded. “The niche also matched the dimensions of the book. Once my grandfather set the tome inside and opened it there, the doorway unlocked, employing some alchemy of magnetism. A section of wall dropped away, revealing a tunnel that led to the hidden vault.”
Duncan frowned. “I don’t remember seeing any such niche down here.”
“But many of the walls are bricked over,” Sharyn reminded him.
Archie groaned. “Many? It’s like half this place. If that alcove is hidden behind one of those walls, it’ll take months to break through them all.”
“And that’s assuming it’s even here,” Duncan sighed.
“And not accidentally destroyed,” Sharyn added.
“Or we could be wrong about this spot entirely,” Laurent finished.
A low growl drew their attention from the fire. Past the tower’s threshold, Russo reappeared with her flashlight, leading Katch, who looked anxious to return to the warmth—or maybe the cat simply wanted to get out of the shadowy depths of the bunker.
Russo confirmed this as she rejoined them, lifting her plastic container. “Could only get him to eat a few pieces. Between the wailing storm and his edginess in this confinement, he’s not in the mood for dinner. I shouldn’t have tried to take him down a level.”
Archie shifted farther away as Katch shoved inside. The cat kept to the wall, his eyes on the doorway out of the tower.
“What’s got him so nervous?” Sharyn asked.
Russo shrugged. “Ask him. He’s always been a bit temperamental. I wouldn’t read too much into his behavior.”
“Or maybe, like I said before, he senses one of those witches you told us about.” Archie tried to make it sound like a joke, but he was not convincing.
Russo didn’t help matters. “It could be. The anguana are said to guard many caves up in these mountains.” She then cast their group a hard look. “Especially if such a cavern should hold a great treasure.”
Duncan winced. “You overheard us?”
“Acoustics underground are tricky.”
Laurent eyed her. “Is this going to be a problem?”
Russo opened her container, pulled out a cube of meat dripping with blood, and tossed it on a hot pan still sitting at the edge of the fire.
She then spun a finger next to one of her ears.
“I think you’re all molto pazzo. But if not, the species repopulation effort in these mountains could use a large boost in funding. ”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Laurent acknowledged. “If we find anything, that is.”
Sharyn sighed softly, still staring off into the darkness beyond the firelit tower. “Those stories of witches . . .” she mumbled.
“What about them?” Duncan asked.
He was surprised Sharyn was giving any credence to such tales. She had never struck him as superstitious, especially for someone enrolled in a postgrad program on witchcraft.
She faced the fire and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
Duncan frowned, noting the pinch to her eyes as she gazed into the flames. Something was clearly troubling her.
Before he could press her about it, Laurent stirred to his feet. “We should all try to get some sleep. We’ll rotate shifts. To keep the fire stoked.”
Duncan knew this wasn’t the only reason. He turned toward the outer bunker door, where the blizzard continued to blow outside. He remembered the helicopters descending into San Vito and accepted a hard truth.
Witches aren’t the only dangers in these mountains.