Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“We couldn't get close. Quinn has the tunnel guarded. Besides, you'll see it tomorrow night.”

She shook her head impatiently. “Not with a gaggle of reporters on our heels. Tonight.”

“Because you want to make sure I'm not off base?”

“I want to see those tunnels. I don't care how close or far away I have to be. You said you didn't think that Aldo was in striking distance.”

“I also said I could be wrong.”

“But he doesn't know about the Via Spagnola tunnel. We'd be safe there. What about the tunnels close to the theater?”

“If he didn't have a reason, he probably wouldn't be down there. It's pretty nasty and those tunnels are lit by electric light and guarded by the locals.”

“Would they bother us if we ran across them?”

“I believe I could talk our way out of it.”

“Another con?”

“Isn't that what life's all about?” He studied her. “Why is it so important to you?”

She didn't answer.

“You said you'd been dreaming of tunnels. You think you'll recognize them?”

“Of course not. That would be weird.”

He was silent a moment. “Quinn will probably kill me.”

He was going to do it! “When?”

“In an hour. I have to call Sontag and prime him for tomorrow's news conference.” He paused. “Are you going to tell Eve?”

She thought about it. “No, they'd feel they had to come with us and I don't want to drag them through those tunnels. You said they were pretty unpleasant.”

“Slimy.” He added, “But they'd still want to go.”

“I'll leave a note for Eve in case she wakes up when we're gone. I don't want her worried.”

“But you don't want them to go. Why?”

“They'd watch me,” she said baldly. “They'd analyze why and what I was doing and wonder if they should have let me go. People who love you do that. But you don't care. If you watch me, it'll be because you're curious. I'll be safe if you go with me because you don't want to lose Aldo, but you're not going to be biting your nails and fretting.”

“No, I'm not inclined to fret.” He smiled crookedly. “And, yes, I'm curious about everything about you.” He turned away. “I'll see you in an hour. Bring a sweater.”

“Wait.” When he looked back at her, she asked, “How do you get to this tunnel? Where's the entrance?”

“You're sitting on it.” He nodded at the rug covering the stone floor beneath her chair. “It's a seven-foot trapdoor that evidently accommodated Sontag's thievery of the larger items he found. And there's a steel ladder leading fifty feet down. Don't get eager and leave me behind. Okay?”

There was no danger of that. The knowledge that she was sitting over that dark emptiness was disturbing. She wanted to get up and move but forced herself not to do it. She kept her tone casual. “I'll wait for you.”

SIXTEEN

Darkness. Only the beam of Trevor's flashlight illuminated the blackness of the tunnel.

The chill and damp seemed to ooze into her every pore and Jane found she was having trouble getting her breath.

Night without air.

Imagination. If she couldn't breathe, it was because she was hurrying after Trevor. “Are we going to the vomitorium first?”

“No, I thought we'd do that on our way back. I have a hunch that wasn't your first priority. You wanted to see the theater.”

She didn't argue with him. She was filled with eagerness. “Are there rats down here?”

“Probably. When there isn't any human habitation, nature tends to take back its own.” His voice drifted back to her. “Stay close. I don't want to lose you.”

“But you wouldn't mind giving me a scare.”

He laughed. “I admit I'd like to shake you up a little to see if I could do it.”

“Well, you won't do it with the threat of rats. I got used to them in some of the foster homes where I lived when I was a kid. I was just curious.”

“There were rats at the orphanage where I grew up, too.”

“In Johannesburg?”

“That's right, Quinn dug deep into my murky past.”

“It wasn't that murky. At least, what he could uncover.”

“It wasn't pristine clean. Watch your step. There's a puddle ahead.”

“Why is it so damp down here?”

“Cracks, fissures.” He paused. “You said you dreamed about tunnels. Was it like this?”

She didn't answer for a moment. She'd told herself that there was no way she'd confide in him about those dreams but the isolation and darkness made her feel strangely close to him. And what real difference did it make what he thought of her? “No, it wasn't like this. It wasn't damp. And it was hot and smoky. I— She couldn't breathe.”

“The eruption?”

“How do I know? It was a dream. She was running. She was afraid.” She waited for a moment, and then said, “You said you dreamed of Cira.”

“Oh, yes. From the time we found the scrolls. At first, it was every night. Now it's not so often.”

“What do you dream about her? Tunnels? Eruptions?”

“No.”

“What?”

He laughed. “Jane, I'm a man. What do you think I dream about?”

“Oh, for God's sake.”

“You asked me. I'd like to tell you some mystic, romantic story but I know you'd prefer the truth.”

“She doesn't deserve that.”

“What can I say? It's sex. I don't really think she'd mind me having a few fantasies about her. Cira understood sex. She used it to survive. And she probably would have enjoyed the thought that she had that much power over me two thousand years after she died.”

“I don't believe you're— Maybe you're right, but she was more than a sex object.” She had a sudden thought. “And I don't think that's all she was to you. You spent a fortune for that bust of her you bought from that collector. Why would you do that?”

“It's a wonderful piece of art.” He was silent a moment. “And maybe I'm a little obsessed with her personality as well as her body. She was larger than life.”

“Then why the devil didn't you say that in the beginning?”

“I wouldn't want you to think I'm sensitive. It would ruin my image.”

She made a rude sound. “I don't think you need to worry about your—”

“This is where the Via Spagnola tunnel ends and joins with the network around the theater,” he interrupted. “It should be a little brighter because of the electric lights though it's still pretty dim. I'll keep the flashlight on. These tunnels meander around but it's the only way to view the theater since it's still buried.”

“Why haven't they worked harder at excavating it?”

“Money. Difficulty. Interest. They've been doing better lately. Though it's an uphill battle since parts of it are buried beneath more than ninety feet of volcanic rock. It's a shame because this theater is a jewel. It sat between two thousand five hundred and three thousand people and it had all the bells and whistles. Bronze drums for making thunder, cranes for flying the gods across the stage, seat cushions, trays of sweets and nuts, saffron water to spray the patrons. Amazing.”

“And exciting. It must have seemed magical to them.”

“Good theater still seems magical to us.”

“And you found out all of this from that newspaper reporter?”

“No, I did a little research. You said you wanted information. I didn't dare disobey.”

“Bull. You were interested yourself.”

“Busted.”

“It's surprising that the theater wasn't destroyed by the lava flow.”

“It's one of the freaky things that happened that day. The flow picked up enough mud to encase and protect it. It might have been excavated intact except for the greed of the people who came after it. At one point King Ferdinand was melting down priceless bronze fragments to make candlesticks.”