The priest got out of the car. The other two passengers remained. Eccleston walked from one hotel to another. All were booked. He doubled back to their Kia and drove down the hill to another hotel, a much more modern resort closer to the caves. The Fiat followed.
Here they managed to score rooms, paying more for Hotel Le Grotte and its first class services than they would have in town. McCauley still had cash, thanks to Marli Bellamy.
Meanwhile, the driver of the Fiat hoped there would be another room available. He figured with his identification they’d be fools to turn him away. And if he liked the accommodations, he might even have one of his magazine staff writers do an article.
Seventy-seven
The trio climbed up and down hills, covering hundreds of yards over three hours. They avoided cliffs they felt Galileo would not have attempted even at age thirty-seven. They tried every opening that appeared possible and dug around rocks that might be blocking the way. Mostly it was discouraging until they came across one that really looked promising. However, after fifteen minutes of grueling work the team hit solid rock.
It was now midday. They were tired, hungry, and searching separately. McCauley was about to call a break when, from a distance, the priest shouted, “Hey, give me a hand.”
Quinn and Katrina both converged from different directions about thirty feet apart.
“Remember Galileo’s general descriptions in his letter to Garaldi? It feels pretty similar,” Eccleston explained as they closed in. “But we have to deal with this.” A four-by-five foot boulder was wedged in the way of what might be a point of access. “Looks like it could have been rolled into place.”
“Or just fallen,” McCauley said taking the more pessimistic view.
“Either way, it goes or we move on. I think it’s worth a try.”
McCauley shook his head — not at the challenge now, but at the sight of the surroundings. It was close to Galileo’s description of the white asphodel, orchids, and cyclamen growing wild on the hillside. Below was the valley he wrote about, formed by glaciers and towering limestone gorges. In his mind, McCauley adjusted for some general geological shifts, fauna and flora growth, and the changes that weather brings to land over centuries. Father Eccleston was right. It was worth a try.
“I like it,” McCauley said enthusiastically. “And we’re still close to town. Galileo could have easily walked it.”
“So, who’s up for a hernia?” Eccleston asked.
McCauley stood next to the priest. They quickly surmised that the rock wasn’t going to budge without some serious muscle. There was too much fill around it, a true measure of how things really worked on the face of the earth, how history covered its tracks. Or, as McCauley speculated, how humans could have covered it up.
“Gentlemen, a little science in honor of Signor Galileo. Perhaps you can come up with a lever and a fulcrum?” Katrina proposed.
The paleontologist and the Vatican scientist looked at one another.
“Right,” they said simultaneously.
McCauley thought. A simple tree branch would break under the strain. “Find some rocks we could use for the fulcrum. I’ll go to check the car for a tire iron. That might work. And break out the sandwiches. We’ll need the energy.”
McCauley walked back down to the flats where they’d parked their Kia. Going down was assuredly easier. He made it in twelve minutes.
Inside the trunk was a good enough tire iron to change a tire. But it was barely two feet long, which meant they’d have to dig down more to get an effective angle to move the boulder — if it were even possible. On his way back, but before he hit the hill, he saw something better: the international Do Not Enter traffic sign atop a long metal pole. “Perfect!”
The bit of vandalism would not be easy until he decided what he couldn’t do by hand, he could do with a ton-and-a-half car.
He backed into the pole, uprooting it to the cost of the rental car deductible. McCauley laughed to himself. This was becoming a habit.
Katrina and Fr. Eccleston had finished their sandwiches.
“What took you so…”
Katrina caught herself. “Ah, good thinking, Dr. McCauley.”
“Thank you, Dr. Alpert.”
“We’ll start digging around the boulder. But history can wait,” she implored. “Grab a bite first.”
McCauley couldn’t argue with that. He ate the remaining prosciutto, lettuce and tomato sandwich and polished off the quart water bottle that Katrina had left for him.
While he relaxed, the priest got to work scrapping, digging and scooping out the dirt on one side of the boulder while Katrina cleared a path in front. Once dislodged, they hoped the obstacle would roll down the hill. Even a few feet would make the difference, enough for them to squeeze past to see if they had come to the right place.
It was slow going. The rock had stood in one place for decades if not centuries. The effort hardly speeded up with McCauley’s help. However, after ninety minutes they believed they’d dug enough.
The priest had picked out a triangular rock, just the right size and shape for the fulcrum. Now for a practical test of the physics.
All three of them grabbed hold of the pole wedged under the boulder and over the fulcrum. In success, their full weight would start it moving. McCauley calculated they’d exert a combined 560 pounds against the load.
Back to the science of it all, he knew the standard equation that calculated the effort and the load in relation to the fulcrum. McCauley’s real problem was over the force it would really take since they didn’t know the weight of the load — the boulder.
“On the count of three,” McCauley announced. They were ready to move part of the mountain. However, three came and went five times. “Back to digging.”
“This better be the place,” Katrina said with real hope.
“We won’t know unless we get this mother, sorry Father, Mother Earth out of the way.”
“Clever, my love,” Katrina added. “It’s still staggering to think that we may be standing within Galileo’s own footsteps.”
“I can take you to a few dozen places I know for sure where you can accurately say that,” the priest responded.
After digging deeper and adjusting the placement of the fulcrum, they were ready to try again.
“Okay — on three?”
“Okay.”
This time, one-two-three brought results. The boulder slowly inched forward, enough to put it on a downward course. It gained speed and rolled for nearly fifteen feet before hitting an olive tree that shook but did not break.
“Roots win!” Katrina proclaimed.
The team let out grateful cheers. However, their work was not yet done.
“Now let’s see if we hit pay dirt,” McCauley joked. He dropped to his knees and started scooping away the soft soil that had been behind the huge rock.
Katrina and Fr. Eccleston joined in. The dirt flew between their legs. Two feet in, McCauley, leading the pack, felt a rush of cooler air. “Here! Right here!” he exclaimed. “Faster!”
Minutes later, they broke through, refreshed by the cooler temperature.
“Amen!” the priest said.
With the way cleared, they cautiously moved forward on their knees, pushing their backpacks. Each held powerful flashlights, illuminating the narrow corridor, defining the size of the space and the safety of proceeding.
“So far, so good,” McCauley headed the single file. Katrina was behind him, Father Eccleston, last.