“So what’s in Hyde Park?” Alicia wondered.
“I don’t know.”
“And that way?” She stood at the entrance to the third tunnel — one they hadn’t found earlier.
“I don’t know, Alicia. That way, the third…” He squinted. “Heads toward Piccadilly.”
“It must run directly above the Victoria Line,” she said. “That’s why it didn’t show up earlier. The vibrometer just picked up the bigger Tube tunnel. Now that’s some clever concealment.”
Crouch nodded slowly as the others climbed down to join them. “An important tunnel.”
“Tube stops are Hyde Park Corner to Green Park to Piccadilly Circus,” Caitlyn said. “What’s up that way?”
“And which way’s the treasure?” Russo rumbled. “ ‘Cause it ain’t gonna take long before someone finds that wide open hole in the floor.”
Crouch grinned. “To my mind there’s only one possible place for the treasure to be,” he breathed, almost overwhelmed. “That way. Right under the monument to one of our greatest ever commanders. Under the Wellington Arch.”
The treasure hunters continued their unremitting search, bowed but not broken by adversity, marching between rough walls of cracked stone, beset by the rumblings of what could only be traffic both above and below, hemmed in by the earth and breathing air that might be filtered down from the arch above or even from the passage that led into Hyde Park, until they came to a passage that no longer looked coarse but instead looked grand and majestic, imposing and splendid. The walls moved away as their path widened out and dim lights appeared above. Something glittered in the darkness ahead.
Something glorious.
Something stunning.
And Michael Crouch fell to his knees in wonder as he approached.
Words were not enough.
THIRTY FOUR
The Hercules Tarentum was the greatest work of art of the greatest sculptor of the greatest leader who ever walked the earth. It was the only surviving work of that sculptor. It had been looked upon only by the privileged for untold centuries, and the cause of death and the shedding of rivers of blood, possibly the driving force for the entire sack of Constantinople. Consequently it was a spoil of war, plundered by conquerors and despaired at by the defeated. More than the Horses of St. Mark, it was unattainable.
But even these facts running through Michael Crouch’s mind did not prepare him for the utter wonder of it all. It rose colossal, like a conquering Titan, climbing toward the vault of the ceiling and causing him to crane his neck up and up. Once in ancient times it stood on the acropolis of a Greek colony, as often visited by people as the famous spectacles of today. Spotlights glittered and shimmered all around it, set in stone and brick. Seated atop a bronzed chair, even his toes began at the top of Crouch’s head. Glimmering golden shimmers gleamed from every facet, every plane of the body, limbs and head. Crouch felt his eyes dazzled by the shining lights and he couldn’t move. Not even his mind worked properly.
Hercules sat upright and strong, a key in one hand and a cup in the other. His immense size, as well as stunning the senses, served to remind the onlooker of the man, the God himself, and of all the deeds he once accomplished.
“How on earth would they ever get something this size down here?” Russo asked.
Crouch found his voice for a second. “Just remember all the construction, the tunnels built here and in Paris, and even back in Venice and Constantinople. The Hagia Sophia rebuilt again and again. St. Mark’s Basilica rebuilt. Do you really think those and dozens more restorations were purely cosmetic? No, ostensibly they were to hide something else and new additions. And it is still done that way to this very day.”
“So when you see St. Paul’s or the Washington Monument or some important cathedral covered in scaffolding don’t just think they’re tinkering with the wallpaper?” Healey put forward.
“No. Think sinister. At least, that’s what I do.”
Alicia moved forward, even her bluster momentarily subdued by the fabulous treasure. The walls to his back had been covered by carvings and tiny sculptures. She now noticed a seating area off to the right. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Your perception of this being a treasure of privilege was spot on. They even have their own little viewing area.”
Russo craned his neck. “No Pepsi machine?”
“Sorry. It’s probably Bring Your Own Bollinger.”
Crouch finally roused himself. From his backpack he took a digital camera and proceeded to catalogue the entire area. Both Caitlyn and Healey did the same, preserving the pictures for later and providing backups.
“So what’s next?” Caitlyn breathed. “Now that we’ve succeeded.”
“It’s time to bring this beauty to the world’s attention.” Crouch smiled at her. “We’ll use the same protocols we used for the Aztec gold. Get Rolland involved. Find us someone in authority we can trust. But first we have to map out the rest of this tunnel complex.”
Alicia backed away from the Hercules, feeling an urge to bow. The others followed slowly and they soon came back to the three-way junction.
“Let’s try the one that heads toward Piccadilly.” Crouch nodded. “That one intrigues me most.”
Alicia led the way, following a new passage that began to descend at a sharp angle. Luckily the passage was wide and cobbled, affording excellent grip. Alicia also noticed filigree on the walls, lending the route an air of sophistication. Nobody spoke as the tunnel wound down and down, the minutes passing slowly. In the end, Alicia exited under a high archway and beheld what lay on the other side.
“Fuck me,” she breathed. “I didn’t expect that.”
THIRTY FIVE
“Whoa.” Russo pushed past her shoulder. “Is this… is this an underground station?”
Alicia nodded. “Yeah, and it sure as hell ain’t on any Tube map.”
Their path descended to a wide platform and a much wider tunnel that arrowed straight ahead, keeping up the direction they were traveling. The ceiling was a brick vault, the walls painted over yellowing plaster. No decorations were in evidence. The station appeared to be entirely functional and nothing beyond obligatory. The rails gleamed.
Crouch nodded at the train. “Are you getting on?”
Alicia studied the double carriage. To her, it appeared to be a standard Tube transport, complete with sliding doors and no doubt the tinny-voiced tannoy operator she could never quite hear. “I’m not really a Tube kinda girl.”
Russo grunted. Crouch pushed past her and approached the train that sat as still as a mountain alongside the platform. As Alicia watched he reached out a hand to press the illuminated entry button.
The doors slid open instantly with a sound that reminded her of Star Trek. Clearly, the carriage was modern and well kept. She craned her neck around, trying to see further up the tunnel. Dim lights shone up there, revealing nothing but the cold stone-clad walls around them. All she could tell was, the track as far as she could see ran dead straight.
Crouch entered the second carriage, followed by Caitlyn and Healey. Alicia could see through the windows that the inside was similar to the standard arrangement except for the seats which were real leather and extremely plush. As she looked harder she saw bespoke champagne buckets built into the floors and seat pockets that held reading material. The floor was plush carpet. A red button beside every seat no doubt summoned a waitress. Alicia stepped onto the train.