Dariush waited until they were all inside, and then forged briskly ahead, setting a pace that left them scrambling to keep up.
Their path into the mountain followed a labyrinthine course, with dips that required them to wade through chilly waist-deep pools, and intersections with other water-carved tunnels. Dariush followed a route that was evidently etched in his memory. Dodge realized with growing anxiety that, if they became separated from their guide, they might spend an eternity wandering the subterranean passages. He took some small comfort in the fact that Hurricane was an unparalleled tracker. Unfortunately, in the tight quarters, there was no way to communicate his fears to the big man.
After about an hour of negotiating the cramped tunnels, their feet numb from immersion in the frigid water, they came to a much larger chamber that bore the unmistakable signs of human industry. The space was large, with a high ceiling spread out above the large pool in which they now stood. Against one wall, there was a carved walkway that skirted the edge of the pool and led to a crumbling staircase. The stone steps ended at a large symmetrical opening, likewise the work of human artifice.
Dariush paused to allow the group to catch up, and said a few words to Rahman who dutifully translated. “This is the waterworks of Alamut. In centuries past, there was a waterwheel here that lifted the water to that conduit.”
“So that’s how they got water up to the fortress,” Nora interjected.
“There are many more chambers like this going up the mountain, leading to the cistern.”
“Well that gets us to the ruins,” Dodge said. “But it doesn’t help us find what we came for. And Barron already has his men crawling all over the rock.”
Rahman relayed this to Dariush, then translated the answer. “There are also many other rooms — storehouses and the like — which can only be reached from the waterworks. Perhaps you will find what you seek there.”
Their guide promptly climbed onto the walkway and headed for the staircase. Before Dodge could follow, Hurricane took him aside.
“I was planning to leave some markers along our route, just in case,” he said. “But someone beat me to it. They weren’t obvious, but easy enough to spot if you’re looking. And they were pretty fresh. No more’n a few hours old.”
“Do you think Dariush came down and scouted the tunnels last night?”
“Maybe. But look there.” He pointed to the stairs where their guide’s wet footprints should have left an obvious trail to follow. Instead, the treads were dark with numerous foot-shaped damp impressions. “Somebody came through here, not too long ago. Maybe it’s nothing, but keep an eye open.”
Dodge felt a rush of adrenaline as he digested Hurricane’s warning. The big man had a sixth sense about danger, and Dodge knew from experience that when Hurley said there was reason to be alert, he was probably understating the situation.
The opening at the top of the staircase led to a smooth, gently sloping tunnel. It was nothing less than a giant pipe, and thankfully bone dry. A few hundred yards later they came to another chamber, with another staircase to a conduit leading back the other way.
They continued in this fashion through several similar chambers, until at last reaching one with a second opening that didn’t appear to be part of the waterworks. They followed Dariush through this passage and found themselves at the foot of a long staircase which ascended well beyond the reach of Dodge’s flashlight.
Dariush spoke a few words in Farsi, which Rahman translated. “The defenders of Alamut placed many traps. We must be very careful.”
Dodge swept the area with his light. The roof above them was not carved out of the mountain, but appeared to be made up of huge blocks of stone. A closer inspection showed that the blocks were held in place only by a few stone wedges, which if loosened, would drop the massive stones onto the staircase, crushing anyone underneath and effectively sealing off the passage.
Nora gave out a little yelp. “Traps?”
Dodge patted her on the shoulder. “Just stay close. And don’t touch anything.”
She gave a weak smile. “You don’t have to worry about this girl.”
“That’s the spirit.”
They ascended through a series of flights and landings — Dodge tried to count how many steps they climbed, but gave up after five hundred, with no end in sight. Each landing had an arched doorway leading presumably to some of the storerooms Dariush had spoken of, but their guide passed these by without explanation. Then, on the fifth landing, he changed course and entered the passage.
Beyond the door was a corridor lined with open doorways. Dodge shone his light into one, but saw only a few bits of debris on the otherwise bare floor. Dariush continued forward, finally stopping at the last opening, which faced back down the passage.
“This is the room where they found many things from the time when Alamut was great,” Rahman translated. “We may find the thing we seek here.”
Dariush stood aside and gestured for them to enter.
Dodge hesitated, recalling Hurricane’s appeal to caution. He turned to consult with his friend, but the big man wasn’t there.
Anya strode confidently into the room. Nora, not to be outdone, grabbed Dodge’s arm and dragged him along. “Come on.”
“Where’s—?”
Dodge was still looking back when he heard Nora gasp. Even as he brought his attention back to what lay ahead, he heard the sound of metal moving against metal — the all-too familiar sound of someone priming the mechanism of a gun — and knew that Hurley’s warning had been spot on.
Dariush had led them into an ambush.
The view from the crest of Alamut wasn’t that much different than what he had seen from through the windows in Majestic’s dining hall, but Newcombe had a new appreciation for the feel of solid ground under his feet.
He had been thinking a lot about solid ground lately.
He turned away from the vista, and resumed helping Fiona unpack gear from her autogyro. There was one piece of cargo he was particularly interested in: Barron’s resonance wave projector.
It had been necessary to partially disassemble the device for transport, but after days of studying the schematics, Newcombe was confident of his ability to restore it to working order. Strictly speaking, however, that was not his intention.
It took him only about half an hour to reassemble the device and mount it on a small wheeled platform. When he was done, he ventured into the ruins where Fiona, along with a few of Majestic’s crewmen she had conscripted for the planned excavation, was using survey equipment to pinpoint the area where she believed the library had once stood. The archaeologist looked ready for adventure in her crisp khaki safari suit and matching pith helmet. She looked up as he approached. “All finished?”
“Almost. I just have to calibrate it on a patch of solid rock.”
She directed to him to an area not far from where the autogyros now sat idle. Newcombe rolled the projector into place and then deployed the makeshift seismograph he had cobbled together from odds and ends in Barron’s laboratory.
“Okay, stand back. And be perfectly still.” He threw the switch and turned the projector on.
To all appearances, nothing happened. The ground did not vibrate, and it most certainly did not liquefy as the pieces of sandstone had during Barron’s demonstration. After about thirty seconds, Newcombe switched it off and turned to Fiona. “All set.”
“Brilliant,” she said, with sincere enthusiasm. If she was disappointed by the evident lack of spectacular results, she gave no indication. “Let’s go find ourselves a library.”