James Becker - The Messiah Secret

John Cross strode over to where Killian stood. ‘On the ground, face down, arms and legs wide apart,’ he ordered.

Killian obeyed, and Cross quickly and expertly searched him.

‘Who’s this?’ Nick Masters asked, walking across to them.

‘No idea, but he climbed out of that chopper that buggered off, so he must have something to do with whatever the hell this is all about. Maybe Donovan would like a word with him? Nice shooting, by the way.’

‘Thanks,’ Masters replied. He reached down, grabbed the recumbent figure by the collar and hauled him unceremoniously to his feet.

‘You speak English?’ Masters asked, and their captive nodded.

‘OK. We’re going down to the cave. You try to get away and I’ll shoot your legs from under you — you understand that?’

The man nodded again, and the short procession started making its way across the slope towards the dark shadow that delineated the cave entrance.

‘Masters!’ Donovan called out, as the mercenary soldier walked back into the cave. ‘Bronson’s got a gun. You’ve got to help me.’

Masters walked over to where Bronson was holding Donovan, the barrel of the semi-automatic pistol pressed into his neck.

‘Where did he get the gun?’ Donovan demanded.

‘I gave it to him,’ Masters said simply.

‘You did what? Why the hell did you do that?’

‘Because I’m a soldier, not a hired killer. That means I don’t shoot unarmed people whose only crime seems to be that they’re smarter than you are, Donovan.’

There was a commotion as Cross dragged in another man and slammed him against the wall.

‘Who are you?’ Cross demanded roughly, pushing his gun into the captive’s chest.

The man peered around in the gloom, his eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness, but didn’t reply.

‘Chris, it’s the priest,’ Angela said, standing up. Her voice carried clearly across the cave. ‘He was the one who tried to kill me.’

‘Did he now?’ Masters murmured. ‘Not exactly what I’d expect from a priest.’

‘My name is Father Michael Killian, and I am an ordained minister of the Church.’ The man’s voice was rough and hoarse. ‘Whatever I do, I am doing God’s work. I know you,’ he said, looking at Donovan, who was still being held by Bronson. ‘And if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll stop this appalling blasphemy you’ve been planning. That’s what I’ve been sent here to do.’

‘Sent by whom?’ Bronson asked.

‘By God Himself,’ Killian said, pride in his voice. ‘I am His messenger, and His agent.’

‘Gimme a break,’ Masters muttered.

‘This isn’t blasphemy, you lunatic,’ Donovan shouted. ‘This could be the greatest single advance in the history of medicine since the invention of anaesthetics or the discovery of antibiotics.’

‘And it’ll make you a multi-billionaire in the process. But I don’t suppose that’s influenced your decision in any way,’ Killian spat.

Masters looked from one man to the other, almost smiling at the vitriol. ‘Well, it doesn’t look to me like either of you is in any position to do much, one way or the other.’ He paused, then stepped across to the flat wall. ‘Let’s take a look at what we have here. This is the place you wanted to find, JJ?’

Donovan nodded, while Killian struggled furiously against Cross’s iron grip. ‘This is sacrilege, blasphemy.’

‘Can’t be both, can it?’ Masters remarked, studying the wall carefully. ‘Not both at the same time, I mean? And it’s interesting that you and your guys were quite happy to follow us here in that goddamned Hind and try to kill us all, but when it comes to opening up a tomb you come over all Old Testament. Sounds to me like you’re sending out a mixed message there.’

‘Your lives are irrelevant,’ Killian shouted. ‘What you’re trying to do here could damn your immortal soul for all eternity.’

‘That’s the kind of thing I mean,’ Masters said mildly. ‘Definitely Old Testament.’ He turned to Cross. ‘If that idiot says anything else, put a round through his stomach then throw him outside. He’s starting to give me a headache.’

‘Pleasure,’ Cross murmured. He swept Killian’s legs from under him and aimed his pistol downwards. ‘Just give me a reason,’ he said.

‘We think it slides,’ Angela said. She gave Killian a withering glare, then walked across to stand beside Masters. ‘Chris found grooves cut in the floor and ceiling.’ She pointed towards the edge of the stone wall.

‘Got it,’ Masters said. ‘So we need to lever on the left-hand side, I guess, to start it moving.’

‘There’s a crowbar on the floor by the wall,’ Bronson said, not loosening his grip on Donovan’s collar. ‘And if you look in my rucksack, Angela, you’ll find a couple of big screwdrivers as well.’

‘I like a man who comes prepared,’ Masters said, as Angela handed him the bag.

‘We were expecting some kind of tomb,’ she said, ‘not a wall made of solid stone. I don’t know if a crowbar’s going to be enough to shift that.’

‘They must have mounted it on rollers,’ Bronson said. ‘Nothing else makes sense. Once it’s started moving, it should be fairly easy to shift.’

‘Yeah, the trick is gonna be gettin’ it started.’ Masters gestured to Cross. ‘Here, John. You’re stronger than I am. I’ll watch the priest. You wanna try gettin’ this sucker open?’

As Cross picked up the crowbar and started tapping the stone wall, working out where to insert the end of the tool, Bronson looked at the expressions on the faces of the people in the cave. Donovan was quivering with what he guessed was a mixture of fury and anticipation, while Killian glowered with impotent anger against the far wall. Between them, Masters and Angela stood together, studying the stone wall with cool appraisal.

‘There’s a kind of notch just here,’ Cross said. ‘Reckon I can just about get the end of the wrecking bar into it.’

There was a metallic scraping sound as he rammed the end of the crowbar into the narrow gap he’d found in the rock, then a deep grunt as he heaved on the end of the tool.

‘Nothing,’ Cross said. ‘No movement at all. You sure there’s no lock or anything, nothing jamming it?’

‘There were some stones wedged under the right-hand side,’ Bronson offered, ‘but I thought I’d shifted all of them.’

Masters turned to look at Bronson. ‘Keep that pistol, but I think you might as well turn Donovan loose. He won’t cause you any trouble.’

Bronson released his grip gratefully, flexed his fingers and stood up. He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, then moved forward to stand beside Angela.

‘Just thinking about it from a mechanical point of view,’ he said, ‘it would make sense if they had done something else to lock the door in place. The last thing they would want would be for an earthquake to shake it open.’

He leaned forward and spent a few minutes running the tips of his fingers over the old stone. On the right-hand side of the door he felt something, and stepped back to see it from a distance.

‘Yes, that could be it,’ he murmured, pointing at a roughly oval-shaped mark on the stone about six feet off the ground. ‘That could be the end of a stone wedge, driven right through the door and then trimmed off flat on this side. It seems to be made of the same stone as the door itself, but the grain, or whatever the correct term is for the marks inside rock, goes the wrong way.’

He picked up the hammer and chisel, strode across to the stone wall, placed the end of the chisel against the oval mark and smashed the hammer on to it. Stone chips flew. He repeated the operation, and again bits of stone broke off and flew all around him. He stopped briefly and peered at the wall.