David Gibbins - The Crusader's gold

“Now. Where were we?”

Twenty minutes later the noise of rain was drowned out by the shuddering roar of the Lynx as it came to a hover overhead, sweeping the jungle floor with its downdraught. Two men were winched down through the dense foliage, followed by a red first-aid crate. Once they were safely on the ground, the Lynx tipped forward and disappeared back into the cloud. Jack ran over from where he had been sheltering to pull the box from the undergrowth and then scrambled over to help Ben.

“We didn’t know what to expect,” Ben shouted above the downpour, holstering the pistol he had been holding at the ready. “When Costas radioed in the GPS co-ordinates we were only about three miles from you, flying a search pattern just off the coast. The cover story was an aerial survey for archaeological remains offshore. Jeremy came along as the only archaeologist on board. And because he insisted. You don’t want to fly uninvited into Mexican airspace bristling with weapons, especially at night, so it’s only me and my Glock. But now we’ve found you, the Lynx has gone back for a full security team and we’ve contacted the local police.”

“Loki’s gone,” Jack shouted. “Ordered by his father to follow us down into the cavern. Taken Maria with him. Didn’t trust us. But Reksnys is all yours.”

“I’ll need to do a perimeter sweep, priority. Jeremy’ll have to do prisoner detail.”

Jeremy pushed his way through the undergrowth from where he had landed, his glasses steamed up and kicking off a mass of vines. Jack led them through the tangle and out on to the rough track, then straight into the temple. At the entrance they shook off water and Jeremy wiped his glasses. Inside, Costas stood with the Luger aimed at a form lying gagged and face-down on the ground, his wrists and mouth roughly duct-taped. Jeremy bounded past them to the wall-painting and peered closely at the image of the menorah, now revealed, and at the battle scene. “Vikings,” he enthused, his glasses steaming up again. “You were right. Fantastic. And look. I’m sure that one’s a woman.”

“Time for that later.” Jack nodded to Costas, who gave him the Luger while Ben knelt over Reksnys and re-fastened his wrists with a plastic tie. “Costas needs to help operate the winch, Jeremy.” Jack passed him the pistol. “Can you handle this?”

“Six months in the ROTC at Stanford,” Jeremy said, taking off his glasses again. “A misplaced sense of duty after 9/11. Not really my kind of thing.”

Jack nodded. “Remember who this guy is. Remember what they did to O’Connor and Maria.”

“My grandfather brought one of these back from the war.” Jeremy replaced his glasses and took the Luger, pulling back the breech toggle to check the chamber and then releasing it. He knelt down and shoved the Luger into the small of Reksnys’ back, pulling his head up roughly and leaning behind his ear. “My friend Costas tells me you threatened Maria with this. A long, lingering death.” He pulled Reksnys to his feet and pushed him towards the door, disappearing with him into the rain.

Ben looked at Jack. “I don’t think we’ve got much to worry about there.”

“Okay. I’m going down to get Maria,” Jack said.

“Not alone.”

“No choice. There’s no way we can retrieve the rebreathers now. Reksnys had two scuba rigs here as backup, and Loki’s taken one. It looks like he used the octopus regulator for Maria, allowing her to breathe off the same tank. The rig we’ve been left with doesn’t have an octopus, and anyway the tank doesn’t have enough air in it for us to buddy-breathe to the chamber and back.”

“I could contact the Lynx and have gear airlifted in from the ship.”

“No time. We’ve pushed our luck as it is.” Jack heaved the air cylinder on to his back and clipped together the stabiliser jacket on his chest. “Loki’s already going to be in a rage. He would have been better off staying up here, and he knows it. The guy’s an independent. His father’s an evil bully but an amateur by comparison. Loki’s caught between blindly obeying all the nonsense about the felag and his better instincts. He’s been forced to a place where he’s not in control the way he likes. It’s our chance. But it also means he’s going to be volatile. And I need to act now. I don’t want him to come back into the chamber below us and work out what’s happened. Maria wouldn’t last a second. If she’s still alive.”

“You haven’t got a weapon.”

“I’ll improvise.”

“Torch?”

“Costas and I left chemical lightsticks to mark the route.”

“Good luck.”

Jack grunted as Ben looped the rope under his arms. Costas checked his air and weight belt and then gripped Jack by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “Battle-luck,” he said.

“Battle-luck.” Jack pulled down his mask, sat on the edge of the hole and then swung himself out over the dark pool far below. Costas and Ben immediately began winching him down. Jack was focussed, his whole being intent on his objective. He hit the water with his regulator in his mouth and immediately began swimming underwater towards the tunnel, following the trail of lightsticks they had dropped just over an hour before. The tunnel seemed less oppressive now, and as he looked ahead he saw the extraordinary luminosity of the calcite walls where they were lit up by the lightsticks, fantastic formations of stalagmites and stalagtites that loomed out of either side like abstract ice sculptures.

Ten minutes after entering the water he saw the pool of light ahead that marked the final chamber. The light was different, more intense than the chemical illumination. He reached the edge of the chamber, the bubbles from his exhaust cascading along the ceiling above him, and cautiously surfaced in a small side chamber just high enough for his head to be out of the water. In the centre of the cavern he could see the bizarre calcium formations of the islet, about twenty metres in front of him. The light was coming from the opposite side of the islet and shone in a wide beam against the ceiling.

The bubbles from his regulator would be a giveaway. For a moment he cursed their decision to ditch the rebreathers in the underwater river. He would have to swim on the surface, hoping not to be spotted.

He took off his mask and clipped it to his jacket, then looked around for something to darken his face, something to absorb the glare if a torch was shone at him. He reached out gingerly and rubbed a flat surface just in front of him. He sniffed his hand, and crinkled his nose. Potassium nitrate. Bat droppings. He took another swipe off the rock and rubbed it all over his face, careful not to make a noise.

He inflated his stabiliser jacket, blowing air into the mouthpiece to avoid the noise of the low-pressure feed from his regulator, then pushed himself off and began to swim slowly towards the outcrop.

When he reached the midway point, he could feel the tug of the underwater river, far stronger now than it had been when he and Costas had decided to follow it. A light swung round and caught his face. He froze. It swung back again, and he resumed swimming. If he was discovered now, he would have no chance. He assumed Loki was armed. Everything depended on surprise.

As he reached the edge of the islet, he heard a voice on the other side, magnified and distorted in the chamber, but unmistakably male. A snarling, menacing tone. Jack slipped off his tank and fins and sidled along to a place he remembered from his earlier dive, where he and Costas had seen the first extraordinary clue. He reached down into the shallows. It came away easily, unencumbered by accretion, as well preserved in the fresh water as the one he had found in the ice. Then he rose from the water, dripping and black in his wetsuit, and pulled the object up with him.