A British tour group squeezed past her on the narrow ramparts. She heard the guide say, “These ramparts were built by Sir Francis the Bad in 1363. Francis was a thoroughly nasty piece of work. He liked to torture men and women, and even children, in his vast dungeons. Now if you look to the left, you will see Lover’s Leap, where Madame de Renaud fell to her death in 1292, disgraced because she was pregnant by her husband’s stable boy. But it is disputed whether she fell or was pushed by her outraged spouse. . . .”
Kate sighed. Where did they come up with this stuff? She turned to her sketchbook notes, where she was recording the outlines of the walls. This castle, too, had its secret passages. But Francis the Fat was a skilled architect. His passages were mostly for defense. One passage ran from the ramparts down behind the far wall of the great hall, past the rear of the fireplace. Another passage followed the battlements on the south ramparts.
But the most important passage still eluded her. According to the fourteenth-century writer Froissart, the castle of La Roque had never been taken by siege because its attackers could never find the secret passage that permitted food and water to be brought to the castle. It was rumored that this secret passage was linked to the network of caves in the limestone rock below the castle; also that it ran some distance, ending in a concealed opening in the cliffs.
Somewhere.
The easiest way to find it now would be to locate where it ended inside the castle and to follow it back. But to find that opening, she would need technical help. Probably the best thing would be ground radar. But to do that, she’d need the castle empty. It was closed on Mondays; they might do it next Monday, if—
Her radio crackled. “Kate?”
It was Marek.
She held the radio to her face, pressed the button. “Yes, this is Kate.”
“Come back to the farmhouse now. It’s an emergency.”
And he clicked off.
:
Nine feet underwater, Chris Hughes heard the gurgling hiss of his regulator as he adjusted the tether that held him in place against the current of the Dordogne. The water clarity was not bad today, about twelve feet, and he was able to see the entire large pylon of the fortified mill bridge, at the water’s edge. The pylon ended in a jumble of large cut rocks that ran in a straight line across the river. These rocks were the remains of the former bridge span.
Chris moved along this line, examining the rocks slowly. He was looking for grooves or notches that would help him determine where timbers had been used. From time to time, he tried to turn one rock over, but it was very difficult underwater because he could get no leverage.
On the surface above, he had a plastic float with a red-striped diver’s flag. It was there to protect him from the vacationing kayakers. At least, that was the idea.
He felt a sudden jerk, yanking him away from the bottom. He broke surface and bumped his head against the yellow hull of a kayak. The rider was holding the plastic float, shouting at him in what sounded like German.
Chris pulled his mouthpiece out and said, “Just leave that alone, will you?”
He was answered in rapid German. The kayaker was pointing irritably toward the shore.
“Listen, pal, I don’t know what you’re—”
The man kept shouting and pointing toward the shore, his finger stabbing the air.
Chris looked back.
One of the students was standing on the shore, holding a radio in his hand. He was shouting. It took Chris a moment to understand. “Marek wants you back to the farmhouse. Now.”
“Jesus, how about in half an hour, when I finish—”
“He says now.”
* * *
Dark clouds hung over the distant mesas, and it looked like there would be rain. In his office, Doniger hung up the phone and said, “They’ve agreed to come.”
“Good,” Diane Kramer said. She was standing facing him, her back to the mountains. “We need their help.”
“Unfortunately,” Doniger said, “we do.” He got up from his desk and began to pace. He was always restless when he was thinking hard.
“I just don’t understand how we lost the Professor in the first place,” Kramer said. “He must have stepped into the world. You told him not to do it. You told him not to go in the first place. And he must have stepped into the world.”
“We don’t know what happened,” Doniger said. “We have no damn idea.”
“Except that he wrote a message,” Kramer said.
“Yes. According to Kastner. When did you talk to her?”
“Late yesterday,” Kramer said. “She called me as soon as she knew. She’s been a very reliable connection for us, and she—”
“Never mind,” Doniger said, waving his hand irritably. “It’s not core.”
That was the expression he always used when he thought something was irrelevant. Kramer said, “What’s core?”
“Getting him back,” Doniger said. “It is essential that we get that man back. That is core.”
“No question,” Kramer said. “Essential.”
“Personally, I thought the old fart was an asshole,” Doniger said. “But if we don’t get him back, it’s a publicity nightmare.”
“Yes. A nightmare.”
“But I can deal with it,” Doniger said.
“You can deal with it, I’m sure.”
Over the years, Kramer had fallen into the habit of repeating whatever Doniger said when he was in one of his “pacing moods.” To an outsider, it looked like sycophancy, but Doniger found it useful. Frequently, when Doniger heard her say it back, he would disagree. Kramer understood that in this process, she was just a bystander. It might look like a conversation between two people, but it wasn’t. Doniger was talking only to himself.
“The problem,” Doniger said, “is that we’re increasing the number of outsiders who know about the technology, but we’re not getting a commensurate return. For all we know, those students won’t be able to get him back, either.”
“Their chances are better.”
“That’s a presumption.” He paced. “It’s weak.”
“I agree, Bob. Weak.”
“And the search team you sent back? Who did you send?”
“Gomez and Baretto. They didn’t see the Professor anywhere.”
“How long were they there?”
“I believe about an hour.”
“They didn’t step into the world?”
Kramer shook her head. “Why take the risk? There’s no point. They’re a couple of ex-marines, Bob. They wouldn’t know where to look even if they did step in. They wouldn’t even know what to be afraid of. It’s completely different back there.”
“But these graduate students may know where to look.”
“That’s the idea,” Kramer said.
Distant thunder rumbled. The first fat drops of rain streaked the office windows. Doniger stared at the rain. “What if we lose the graduate students, too?”
“A publicity nightmare.”
“Maybe,” Doniger said. “But we have to prepare for the possibility.”
* * *
The jet engines whined as the Gulfstream V rolled toward them, “ITC” in big silver letters on the tail. The stairs lowered, and a uniformed flight attendant rolled out a strip of red carpet at the bottom of the stairs.
The graduate students stared.
“No kidding,” Chris Hughes said. “There really is a red carpet.”
“Let’s go,” Marek said. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and led them aboard.
Marek had refused to answer their questions, pleading ignorance. He told them the results of the carbon dating. He told them he couldn’t explain it. He told them that ITC wanted them to come to help the Professor, and that it was urgent. He didn’t say any more. And he noticed that Stern, too, was keeping silent.
Inside, the plane was all gray and silver. The flight attendant asked them what they wanted to drink. All this luxury contrasted with the tough-looking man with cropped gray hair who came forward to greet them. Although the man wore a business suit, Marek detected a military manner as he shook hands with each of them.
“My name’s Gordon,” he said. “Vice president at ITC. Welcome aboard. Flying time to New Mexico is nine hours, forty minutes. Better fasten your seat belts.”
They dropped into seats, already feeling the aircraft begin to move on the runway. Moments later, the engines roared, and Marek looked out the window to see the French countryside fall away beneath them.
:
It could be worse, Gordon thought, sitting at the back of the plane and looking at the group. True, they were academics. They were a little befuddled. And there was no coordination, no team feeling among them.
But on the other hand, they all seemed to be in decent physical condition, particularly the foreign guy, Marek. He looked strong. And the woman wasn’t bad, either. Good muscle tone in the arms, calluses on her hands. Competent manner. So she might hold up under pressure, he thought.