He was standing in front of a large boulder that seemed to be partially imbedded in the hillside, its top more than head-high. It was the only piece of visible rock that could have been placed over an entrance big enough to admit a man, at least the only rock along the plane where Washington's profile was recognizable. Leaning against its rough surface, his feet scrabbled for traction in the loose soil and pebbles. His entire weight wasn't enough to budge it a centimeter.
There had to be a way. Saunière had done it alone or his secret would not have been kept. But how?
Had to be a matter of simple physics. But nothing about physics was simple. Lang had nearly flunked it in high school.
He stepped back, looking up the slope until he saw a stone fifteen or twenty feet away, one approximately the size of the one in front of him. Climbing up to its downhill side, he took the trenching tool from its rope loop and began to dig at the rock's base. After ten minutes of hard labor, he discarded his shirt. After what seemed like an hour, he had undermined the downslope side of that rock with a trench a foot or so deep. If he wasn't careful, he was likely to be flattened like Wile E. Coyote when he tried something similar to catch the Road Runner. Only Lang wouldn't be around to hear the "beep-beep."
Mopping his face with the wadded shirt, Lang took the coil of rope from his belt, looped it around the rock and tied it off. Then he went back down to the lower stone and did the same thing.
Now he had two boulders, one above the other, connected by the strongest nylon rope he could find. A swig from the water bottle celebrated the accomplishment. He hoped the next step would have made his physics teacher proud.
Picking up the trenching tool, he used it to smooth a path from the upper rock down the slope. Then he went back up and stuck the tool under the boulder, using the shovel's handle as a lever. That didn't work, so he pushed the little spade as far under the rock as it would go and stood on the handle; bending his knees and bouncing up and down like a diver about to leave the high board.
Simple physics, a lever.
He had expected his weight to jiggle the thing loose, but he was doing knee bends for nothing, panting in a fair imitation of Grumps. He promised himself he would start working out as soon as he got home. That's the easiest part of getting in shape, promising yourself you're going to do it.
He was going to have to think of something else to budge that rock. He stopped for another drink.
The sound of scraping metal made him forget his thirst. Something had shifted. Knees flexing, he felt the huge bulk of the stone move so imperceptibly that he thought it might be wishful thinking instead of motion.
As his high schoolteacher would have said, simple physics: tons of inertia were about to become kinetic.
With renewed vigor, Lang jumped up and down on the tool's handle two more times. There was a groan of rock grinding rock. He just had time to jump free before the boulder slowly moved from its resting place and began to inch downhill. In seconds it had the momentum and speed of a freight train on a ten-mile straight.
Now all Lang had to do was pray the fiberglass rope was as strong as advertised.
It was.
Maybe stronger.
The loose boulder crashed past the lower stone and the rope sounded like a plucked harp string as it went tight. The power of tons of stone in motion snatched the other rock loose and it followed the first down the mountainside in a fury of scree, vegetation, dirt and noise. Fortunately, there was nothing below but the river.
The place where the lower rock had been imbedded into the hillside was hidden in a swirling storm of white grit. Lang sat on a nearby rock and waited. As the dust settled he wondered if Saunière had used the same method without the benefit of technologically enhanced rope. If so, how in hell had he gotten the rock back into place? Maybe he had simply pulled another boulder downhill instead.
A darkness was emerging behind the dust cloud, a blackness that could only be an opening in the hillside, a cave.
Lang stood, feeling that going-into-action sort of tingle. If he had guessed right, he was about to follow not only Saunière but Pietro.
There was enough water remaining in the bottle to soak the shirt before he tied it over his nose and mouth to absorb as much loose dust as possible. Taking the flashlight from its clip on his belt, he checked to make sure it was working and marched two thousand years to the rear.
2
Cardou
The sniper looked up from the scope."He's gone into some sort of cave. I can't see him."
The other person took the binoculars from his eyes. "So I see. I'd suggest you keep that thing ready. You may have the opportunity to use it at any moment."
The shooter put a cheek back against the Galil's metal frame stock and moved the barrel so that the scope's picture was a point a few feet in front of the cave. "I'm not walking anywhere. I'll be ready."
It could have been clouds making shadows on white rock, had there been any clouds in the brilliant blue sky. The angle of the sun to any number of rocks could have also been the origin of the shadows. Or, possibly, the shadows could have been the result of a far-ranging sheep, moving from boulder to boulder so quickly that the eye was unsure if it had really seen movement.
The sniper didn't think so. The scope moved to a place fifty or so feet from the cave's entrance.
3
Cardou
A haze of white dust threw the flashlight's beam back into Lang's eyes. He couldn't see until he was completely inside the cave. He couldn't see the walls and he certainly couldn't see the low ceiling. He smacked his head against unforgiving rock. At least the impact made him see something, even if only spinning balls of color.
Wary of another collision, he stooped before moving forward. Of course, he thought. He should have known the damned roof would be low. Men centuries ago rarely stood more than five feet. He had never seen a suit of armor that he could have gotten into.
The dust was settling enough that Lang could see chisel marks, the tracks of the stonemasons Pietro had observed.
This cave had been enlarged by a process more laborious than Lang wanted to imagine.
He stepped deliberately, placing each foot softly to minimize stirring the powdery white dust carpeting the floor. Still, there was enough of it in the air that he didn't see it until the flashlight silhouetted it against the far wall. A stone box, squarely carved, about twenty inches by fifteen and maybe a foot high. Only its shape distinguished it from the pieces of rock that had fallen from the ceiling as the centuries passed. An indentation in the coat of covering dust indicated it had a-lid. Closer inspection revealed irregularities in its coating of grime that may have been letters. With a tentative hand, Lang rubbed the stone, the slightest touch sending motes whirling into the light's beam. The surface felt warm, almost hot to his touch, in contrast to the cool of the surrounding dark.
He tried to remove the top without success. The lid had been carved to such a perfect fit that aeons of dust and grime had provided a sealant as effective as cement. Once again, Lang experienced warmth that seemed to reside in the box itself.
He squatted, sitting on his heels to bring his face closer to the stone. He closed his eyes and gave a gentle puff as he had in law school to blow dust from a book long unused. When he guessed the ministorm had quieted, he looked.
Much of the carving had cracked, fallen away as the stone had expanded and contracted in response to the cave's temperature fluctuations. One series of characters resembled the Hebrew inscriptions Lang had once seen in a synagogue. Aramaic, the ancient language of the Jews? And Latin, the letters barely legible.