The tunnel began immediately at the bottom of the shaft and cut due east through the bedrock at a gentle slope. Compared to the claustrophobic confines of most caverns and mine shafts, the passage through the rock was immense, rising several stories overhead to a smooth arched ceiling. With the exception of an occasional buttress to reinforce the walls or roof, the tunnel was unremarkably uniform. It was a long hallway stretching on indefinitely without doors or junctions. As Kismet had earlier suggested, the corridor was easily large enough to accommodate a military vehicle. He surmised that most of those who found their way to this place made the journey with the assistance of motorized transport.
The slope of the tunnel soon leveled out. Kismet was keeping a careful pace count, reconciling the distance traveled in the subterranean passage with the actual separation between the palace and the temple ruins. There was no question that the tunnel’s vector would intersect that point, and he had little doubt that they would find the treasure vault when they reached that critical junction. Despite his earlier dismissal of Chiron’s agenda, there was no denying the excitement he felt as he pushed forward.
“We’re getting close,” he said, breaking the unintentional silence. His words echoed hollowly, ricocheting indefinitely from one wall to the other. The effect was anything but reassuring. To counter the ominous cloud of dread, he turned his flashlight beam against the walls, scanning for any irregularities. As diligent as he was in his search, he almost missed the opening.
The architects of the passage had used crushed rock from the excavation to plaster over a semicircular section of wall, rising from the floor to just above Kismet’s knees. There was only a faint seam delineating the patch from solid rock and an almost indistinguishable color difference. He knelt beside the cemented wall and probed it with his fingertips.
“This is it,” he said, unable to hide the eagerness in his tone.
Rather than wait for Hussein to sort through the gear for an excavating tool, he drew his kukri and used its iron-capped pommel to hammer at the facade. The rest of the group crowded around, barely giving him room to swing. He passed his light to Marie and resumed the assault with both hands.
The improvised plaster crumbled after only a few blows, revealing a web of chicken wire. Pieces of the patch dropped through into the void beyond and rattled against a solid surface almost instantaneously. He banged the knife hilt against it a few more times, then used his feet to smash through the mesh. The entire facade vanished into the darkness beyond.
Kismet tossed his chem-light into the opening and followed its journey with his eyes. The glowing stick dropped a few meters, illuminating a series of perfectly parallel lines for only an instant before rebounding and disappearing from view. He took back his flashlight then cautiously poked his head through the hole. There was a faint odor underneath the generic mustiness that pervaded the tunnel. It was a repugnant smell but diluted to the point that it was impossible to identify. He wrinkled his nose, then pulled back from the opening.
“It’s a stairway,” he reported. “It looks like they just barely intersected it during the excavation. If they had deviated by a few degrees, they would have missed it altogether.”
“Where does it go?” Chiron asked.
“Up and down. Beyond that, who can say? The treads are carved from solid rock and don’t show any wear whatsoever. If this is an ancient tunnel, then it was hardly ever used.”
“We must be over a hundred meters below the surface.” Marie now added her voice to the chorus. “I can’t believe the Babylonians would have dug so deep.”
“The ruins of the city also lie beneath the surface,” Hussein supplied. “Perhaps it was not so far for them to dig.”
“I think we also need to consider what it was that Nebuchadnezzar sought to conceal.” Chiron’s comment must have seemed cryptic to the young Iraqi, but Kismet understood and agreed.
“It would have been an ambitious project, but we’re talking about the architect of the Hanging Gardens. And Nebuchadnezzar certainly had the resources to pull it off. Ruthless dictators never have a shortage of cheap labor.”
Hussein nodded gravely, but did not comment.
“So it is your belief that this stairway ascends to the Esagila,” Marie persisted. “Why then did we not find the other end of it when we searched the ruins?”
“Judging by the condition of those stairs, I’d say that the shaft was sealed up during the time of Nebuchadnezzar himself. He must have piled enough rock on top of the opening to keep it hidden through thousands of years of looting.”
“And archaeology,” added Hussein with a grin.
“Never mind where it goes up,” Chiron interjected. “What we want lies in the other direction.”
“For once, I can’t fault your logic.” Kismet stuck his head and shoulders through once more. “It’s a little bit of a drop. Do we have any more rope?”
“We left all of it tied to the balcony,” Hussein answered guiltily.
“A fine bunch of Boy Scouts we’d make.” His quip earned only blank stares and he thought better of elaborating. “Well, if somebody stays behind to pull us back, we can probably boost one another high enough to reach this opening. The last one down is going have to jump pretty high.”
Hussein’s expression fell as he realized that he would be the one to remain while the others pushed deeper into the unknown, but he nevertheless volunteered to serve as the anchor. “Perhaps you will find a ladder down there, so I can join you,” he offered with a weak smile.
Kismet gave him a nod of gratitude. “How about you, Pierre? Want to sit out this round of rugged adventure and daring acrobatics?”
The Frenchman’s face revealed his inner turmoil, but his answer was unequivocal. “I have not come so far to be turned aside at the very threshold of discovery.”
“I was afraid of that,” Kismet murmured. He repositioned so that he could enter the portal feet first in a reverse belly-crawl. “I’ll wait below to help you through.”
As his thighs scraped over the rough edge, he felt the familiar sensation of losing control. With his legs dangling over nothingness — worse, dangling into the darkness of an ancient crypt underneath millions of tons of earth — he felt the urge to scramble for a safer position. It was an instinctual response and easy enough to sublimate. Nevertheless, as his torso slid deeper into the hole, his anxiety increased proportionately until at last, he was dangling above the stairway, secured only by his fingertips on the flat surface to the tunnel floor.
Marie leaned in and illuminated the stairwell with Kismet’s flashlight. It would be a tricky drop. The stairs were uniform, but the treads were shallow, providing only about a hand’s breadth of surface upon which to light. Even the slightest deviation might cause him to pitch headlong down the stairwell.
To compensate, Kismet kicked his legs, working up to a gentle pendulum motion, and at the optimum moment he let go. The momentum of his swing carried his body up the stairs, and even though his feet slipped uncertainly on the short steps, his controlled fall was less painful than a chaotic slide into the depths.
The rotten smell was stronger now that he was fully immersed in the environment, and he saw the first evidence that the original unsealing of the ancient vault had exposed it to contemporary vermin. A fine layer of dust covered the stairs along with heaps of rodent excrement, petrified with the passage of time. He quickly brushed off and shouted for Marie to descend.