Martin Walker: The Devil's Cave

‘That might not be the only bomb,’ said Bruno. ‘Follow me, quickly.’ He helped the medic to drag the Count, drenched from the wave of lake water, around the corner into the smaller cave where the candles had been stored.

‘Maybe that’s why Foucher took the chance to run, if he knew there was another bomb timed to blow and seal him in,’ said Bruno.

‘So it could seal us in, too,’ said Jules, gathering more candles from the old ammunition box and lighting them one by one. ‘How long do we have to wait before we know?’

Bruno tried to work out how long the timer would have been on the bomb. Most timers were set for five, fifteen or thirty minutes, but they weren’t always that accurate. He wondered if Ahmed and the girl had managed to get out of the tunnel before the blast. It would have taken time to get that stretcher up the stairs and across the three big stalagmites that guarded the entrance to the tunnel.

‘They probably set that timer as they came through the tunnel with the girl. They can’t have been much more than ten or fifteen minutes ahead of us, but then more time passed when the Mobiles joined us. So it was probably set for thirty minutes. But if there is a second bomb, I’ve no idea when they might have set it. If we stay here for an hour, we should be OK.’

‘If we don’t get this guy to hospital before then, he’s not going to make it,’ said the medic.

‘Tough,’ said J-J. ‘I’m not risking my skin for a bastard like that.’

‘I’m going back into the cave by the lake,’ said Albert, tapping at his walkie-talkie. ‘I can’t get a connection in here.’

‘Don’t go out just yet,’ said Bruno. ‘Just put the radio round the corner and see if you get anything.’

Albert did so, and a crackling of garbled voice and static came from the small speaker. He thumbed the button to speak and identified himself but there was no answer.

‘It’s no good, I’ll have to go out if they’re going to hear me,’ he said and began to rise to his feet. At that moment, a second, much closer blast slammed into the cave, knocking Albert to the ground, deafening them all and blowing out every candle but one.

‘Jesus, we’re sealed in,’ said the medic.

‘They know we’re in here,’ said Albert, picking himself up and trying to rub dust from his eyes. ‘They’ll get equipment in and dig us out. We’ve got water. We can last for days.’

‘This guy doesn’t have an hour. His blood pressure’s collapsed,’ said the medic.

‘Let’s see how bad the blockage is,’ said Bruno. Lighting more candles, he led the way around the rocky corner onto the beach where they’d been standing when the first blast came. He looked into the tunnel that led to the Gouffre. The first few metres were clear and then rubble began to pile higher and higher until it reached the ceiling.

‘Try the radio from here,’ he said to Albert, but there wasn’t even the sound of static.

‘There must be at least fifty metres of tunnel before the Gouffre,’ said Albert. ‘If it’s all like this, we’re in for a long wait, and who knows what damage the blast did to people inside the Gouffre.’

Bruno thought of the Dragon’s Teeth, the three giant stalagmites that guarded the way to the tunnel, each of them many tons in weight. They’d need to get cranes and bulldozers and mechanical diggers into the Gouffre to clear them.

‘If we’ve nothing better to do, we might see if there are other ways out, maybe through some of those holes up by the roof,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll go and check the other tunnel to see how blocked that is.’

He crossed back over the causeway, holding a candle high. With Sergeant Jules following him into the place that had so nearly been Jules’s grave, he advanced into the tunnel. Counting his steps, he managed just over a hundred metres before the rubble became impassable and they turned back. Now that the dust had settled, he sniffed, catching the faint scent of something that might have been glue, something he’d smelt often enough in his army days.

‘ Plastrite , French military issue’ he said to Jules. ‘So when we’re out of here, the first job will be to find out where the hell they got hold of our own plastic explosive.’

Back at the other tunnel, Albert and J-J were lifting stones from the rock pile one by one and tossing them down. Was that the best they could do, Bruno wondered. They were four grown men, plus the medic. They were alive, healthy, and they had light, water and whatever assets they carried.

‘Can we make an inventory of what possessions we have?’ he asked them. He began emptying his own pockets, laying down gun and wallet, handkerchief, folding knife, torch and mobile phone, notebook, pen and the rubber gloves and plastic evidence bags he always carried.

Sergeant Jules and J-J had little more, but Albert had a 25-metre coil of rope, an axe, torch and helmet and his breathing apparatus strapped to his back. The medic had a commando knife and his rucksack of medical equipment. There were twenty-two candles in the ammunition box, each lasting about an hour. Bruno went round and collected the ones already lit, blew them all out but one. He then picked up those drenched in the wave from the lake and set them aside to dry.

‘From now on, we’d better ration the candles, but the rope will be useful,’ said Bruno. ‘How much air in that breathing equipment, Albert?’

‘Fifteen, twenty minutes, depending on your exertion rate.’

‘I might need that for the patient,’ said the medic. J-J snorted and Jules rolled his eyes.

‘Is your torch waterproof?’ Bruno asked Albert, thinking of the jets of water firemen used.

‘Supposed to be, but it’s probably more like water-resistant, depending on the pressure.’

‘So if we took it underwater, best wrap it in plastic,’ Bruno mused. He sealed the torch into two plastic bags and pointed to the lake.

‘At the end of the lake there’s a causeway where J-J and Jules and I crossed. It acts as a kind of dam but water falls over it and then drops. When I was last here, I used a stone and rope to measure the drop and it was twelve metres. That water has to go somewhere and my guess is it flows into the lake in the Gouffre. With the breathing equipment and the torch, we might be able to get out that way.’

‘This patient couldn’t make it,’ said the medic.

‘From what you say about getting him to hospital within the hour, he’s not likely to make it anyway,’ said Bruno. ‘This could be his only chance.’

‘What if you get stuck?’ Albert asked. ‘Isn’t it better to wait here until they can clear the tunnel and get us out? If we carry on moving stones out of the way I might get through on the radio.’

‘There’s a lot of tunnel to clear, and I smelt military-grade plastic explosive back there. That stuff’s powerful and it will have brought down a lot of roof. Rather than just sit back and wait to see if we get rescued, I think this is worth a try. And if I get stuck, I’ll have the rope tied round my waist and you can pull me out.’

‘Wait,’ said the medic, and unhooked his Kevlar helmet from his belt and tossed it to Bruno. ‘You might need this.’

‘Thanks.’ Bruno put it on, fixing the familiar chinstrap. Rather than let any discussion drag on he picked up the rope and the sealed torch, asked Albert to bring the breathing equipment and headed for the causeway. He tied one end of the rope around his crotch and shoulders, and the other to Albert, then lay down, bracing against the shock of the cold water as it flowed over the stone and down into the depth below. He turned on the torch through the plastic, put his head over the rim and looked down. If there was a bottom at twelve metres, he couldn’t see it. It might just have been an outcrop of rock his stone had landed on before. He’d soon find out.