The Trespass(108)

“How will I find my way? I have no torch –”

“There will be adequate light. When I leave you, follow the stairway to its end. Then listen for the sound of water. When you find it, turn to your right and follow the flow. Seek the hidden places. If you are seen, then your life is in your own hands – it is forbidden for an outsider to enter the sanctuary of the Korumak Tanri, but these are unusual times. Be warned: there are others, unlike myself, who will not hesitate to kill you the moment they see you.”

Dracup grabbed his arm. “I have to know more.”

“And you will,” Jassim replied, “but I can share little else with you at this time, Professor, except perhaps –” Jassim pointed to the box nestled in Dracup’s arms, “to advise you to take great care of your luggage. Now, please –”

Dracup took a deep breath and entered the hole. He felt his way down for the first twenty or so steps, then realized that a faint phosphorescence was filling the stairwell with an gentle blue light. He turned to Jassim, an unformed question on his lips. Jassim shook his head. Dracup turned and continued his descent into the home of the Korumak Tanri.





James Potzner nursed his bruised forearm and rolled another Marlboro between his lips. The Humvee vibrated as it negotiated the rough terrain. Too risky for choppers? No problem. The marines didn’t care if they flew or rode – it was all the same to them. James Potzner is in control. Moran’s presence was an irritant, but he could deal with the Irishman later; at least Interpol was out of the picture.

Potzner watched the fresh-faced marines joking and bantering in the troop carrier alongside. They were only kids, most of them. He hoped they were prepared for what lay ahead, because he was not prepared to return empty-handed. He had the location nailed; he had the ability. The only fly in Potzner’s ointment was Dracup. The damned idiot could blow the whole thing apart on account of one kid. What was one life when the world was at stake? He clicked on the comms channel. “You there, Farrell?”

For a moment there was only the roar of the Humvee’s diesel engine, then Farrell’s familiar drawl in his ear. “Sure am.”

“You have the map? Good. Now listen: go for the west entry point, and I’ll take the east. I’m betting that the action is at the top of the central stairways, the converging tiers of the ziggurat. They all meet at the top – that’s the focal point of the whole shebang. He’ll be in there for sure.”

A pause, then, “Right. Who’s going in with me?”

“You take Moran – I want him out of my hair. His interest is Dracup and the kid. When we hit the site I’ll give you thirty minutes head start. Check it out and call me when you’re comfortable. Like I said, we’ll come in from the east side and meet you at the top.”

“What do I do when I find the Prof?”

“You help him find the kid.”

“And then?”

“You know what to do, Farrell. None of this can leak. You know that.”

A slight pause. “Right. And Moran?”

“At your discretion.”

“Okay. You got it.”

Potzner glanced at his watch. nineteen hundred hours. ETA: forty-five minutes. He chewed on the Marlboro’s filter and thought of his dear, dead wife. It was too late for her, but there would be others – thousands, millions perhaps – who would benefit from the research. And fate had decreed that it was down to James Potzner to make it happen.





Chapter 38





The stairway seemed endless. Dracup stopped frequently and listened. The only sounds were his heartbeat and a low, bass vibration that seemed to emanate from within the walls. After a while he discerned an accompanying harmony, strangely discordant yet complementary to the sub-bass drone that had first caught his attention. He paused again, captivated by the effect. It was like some experimental choral composition, but surely no modern composer could create such a sound? As the notes rose and fell in weird, structured, codas Dracup sensed in its metre something old and profound; he realized he was listening to a music preserved from the dawn of time, a chorus of worship that was both ancient and inspired. From grey and enforced Sunday morning attendances he remembered a snatch of scripture: Adam walked with God. He felt a shiver run through his body, a sensation unrelated to the cooler underground temperatures. The unsettling soundscape followed him deeper into the bowels of the earth. This is music from Eden, he marvelled. This is a conversation with the creator.

The stairwell stopped abruptly. In front of him lay a T-junction. Right or left? Listen for the sound of water, Jassim had said. He tried to filter out the hypnotic refrains drifting along the passage. Was there a more elemental reverberation this way? He thought so. He hadn’t travelled a hundred metres before he was sure he heard the rush of moving water. He stepped up the pace. His hands brushed the walls as he paused for breath; they came away covered in a white substance. Salt. The catacombs appeared to be constructed from a strange blend of sandstone, salt and some other material that defied his hurried analysis.