Odessa Sea Page 31

  Hawker tried his supply of skeleton keys, but none turned the mechanism. After several failed attempts to open the lock, Perlmutter asked him to step aside. Using his mass, the historian raised a foot and stomped against the latch with the weight of his heel. The gate flung open with barely a protest.

  The big man peered over the precipice and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take it from here.”

  Hawker crawled to the edge and shined his light into the depths.

  “Looks to be about twenty feet to the bottom.” He opened his duffel and retrieved a static nylon climbing rope. “If fifty feet doesn’t do the trick, then we’ve got bigger problems.” He tied one end around the gate’s stanchion. “Anyone care to join me in the descent?”

  Dirk and Summer stepped forward, but Perlmutter and Trehorne shook their heads.

  “You may need a couple of old mules up here to pull you out,” Trehorne said. “Julien and I will stand by at the ready.”

  Hawker slipped the rope between his legs and pulled the loose end from his right hip, then crossed it over his left shoulder, gripping it behind his back. Secured by the Dulfersitz rappelling technique, he stepped over the edge and lowered himself down the shaft, using the friction from the rope as a brake. He was gone from view less than a minute before he shouted up, “All clear.”

  Summer descended next, clipping her flashlight to her belt and duplicating the rope configuration. She let herself down slowly, pushing off on the shaft’s smooth limestone walls. After ten feet, the narrow enclosure expanded into an open cavern where the ceiling had given way during excavations below. Hawker’s light guided her to the floor and she slid down the remaining distance, landing on her feet.

  “Well done,” he said. “I think it’s closer to a twenty-five-foot drop, actually.”

  He helped her release the rope and called up to Dirk.

  “It would be a lot less nerve-racking if someone had left the lights on,” she said.

  A few seconds later, Dirk dropped to her side. They swung their flashlights around the cavern, highlighting piles of crumbled rock and a small passageway to their right.

  Dirk aimed his light at the opening. “Your honors, Major.”

  “My pleasure.” Hawker hunched down and scurried through the tunnel, Summer fast on his heels. After a short distance, the trio entered a square room about twenty feet across. But the room was completely empty, save for an upright wooden rack in the corner. Summer walked the perimeter and examined the floor and walls for any indication a Russian treasure had once been stored there but found nothing.

  As Hawker examined the rack, he noticed a faint smell of gunpowder. “Looks like a musket rack. I’ll bet the room was used to store small arms and perhaps some gunpowder.”

  “But not gold,” Summer said.

  “It would seem not.”

  She heard an echo of Perlmutter’s voice and ducked back to the entry cavern. “Julien?” she called.

  “Summer, what have you found?” his voice bellowed in a curt tone.

  “Nothing, I’m afraid.”

  “The gold. It wasn’t there?”

  “No, it doesn’t appear as if it ever was. We’ll be up shortly.”

  She turned to rejoin Dirk and Hawker, then hesitated. Something wasn’t quite right. She swung her flashlight around the cavern, then realized what it was.

  The rope was missing.

  “Julien!” she shouted. “Where’s our rope?”

  Her question was met by silence.

  77

  As Perlmutter and Trehorne waited for the team below, a crisp voice from behind them nearly startled them over the shaft’s edge.

  “Please raise your hands and step back to the wall,” Mansfield said in a firm but polite way.

  The two historians turned to find Mansfield and Martina standing a few feet away, pistols leveled at their chests. The men backed away from the shaft and stood against the rock wall.

  Mansfield clicked on a penlight, stepped to the edge, and peered down. The distant voices of Dirk, Summer, and Hawker echoed from below. He knelt, pulled up the rope, and tossed it to Martina. Without a word, she pulled out a folding knife and began cutting it into shorter lengths.

  “A nice hiding spot,” Mansfield said, turning from the shaft to the men. “Did you meet with success?”

  When neither spoke, Mansfield pointed his weapon at Perlmutter. “You, come to the ledge. Please ask your friends what they have found.”

  “Listen here—”

  Mansfield jammed the pistol into the side of Perlmutter’s neck. “Save it for your friends,” he whispered.

  Perlmutter did as he was told, obtaining Summer’s report. Then Mansfield forced him onto his knees beside Trehorne while Martina tied their wrists and elbows behind their backs with sections of the climbing rope.

  “Tie the big one’s feet, then take the other one away,” Mansfield said.

  Martina bound Perlmutter’s ankles, retrieved her gun, and pulled Trehorne to his feet. Taking his flashlight, she marched him into the tunnel and around the first bend.

  As Summer shouted from below, Mansfield stepped over to Perlmutter, stuck a foot on his shoulder, and shoved him onto his back. “You’re a historian, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell me about the Romanov shipment?”

  Perlmutter shook his head. “I don’t succumb to criminal extortion.”

  Mansfield nodded, then picked up a length of rope and tied it around Perlmutter’s head and over his mouth.

  The Russian rose to his feet, clutching another piece of rope. “I’m going to visit your friend. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He walked a short distance around the bend to where Martina waited with Trehorne. She held a guidebook and a folded sheet of paper in one hand and her pistol in the other.

  “I searched him and found these.” She passed the items to Mansfield.

  He scanned the book’s title. “A Pocket Guide to the Caves and Tunnels of Gibraltar. Very handy.” He tossed it to the ground.

  He unfolded the paper and studied it under his penlight. It was a copy of the letter from the Sentinel’s captain requesting security for its cargo. “A bit more interesting. So, the Sentinel did in fact obtain the Pelikan’s cargo and brought it to Gibraltar. But it was never shipped on to England, was it?” He waved his gun under Trehorne’s chin.

  “No evidence that we could find,” Trehorne said.

  “And this tunnel. This is AEB Nelson?”

  Trehorne nodded.

  “Who’s your Army friend?”

  “Major Cecil Hawker of the Royal Gibraltar Regiment. An expert on Gibraltar’s tunnels.”

  “But not on Gibraltar’s gold,” Mansfield said. “So if not here, then where?”

  Trehorne shook his head.

  From the frustrated look in Trehorne’s eyes, Mansfield believed he was telling the truth. The Russian passed a length of rope to Martina. “Tie his feet, please.”

  He then raised his pistol and pointed it toward Trehorne’s left eye. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The gunshot echoed through the tunnel like a cannon blast. Perlmutter flinched at the sound and opened his eyes a few seconds later to see Mansfield standing before him.

  The Russian removed Perlmutter’s gag, then raised his pistol. “Your friend wasn’t very talkative. Now, tell me what you are doing here.”

  Perlmutter swallowed hard. “This is Nelson’s tunnel.” He tilted his head toward the open shaft, then summarized the research that had led them there.

  “Where would the gold be, if not here?” Mansfield asked.

  Perlmutter shook his head. “I haven’t a clue. Perhaps it was returned to Russia.”

  Mansfield retied the rope gag. “You and your friend are smart fellows. Good-bye.” He strode off through the tunnel, his small light beam quickly fa
ding to black.

  From the depths of the shaft, Summer called up in alarm. Perlmutter inched his way in the darkness, carefully approaching the edge and peering over. Flashlights illumined the steep walls below. He could see his friends were duly trapped.

  While edging across the ground, Perlmutter had felt the sensation of dragging a tail. After tying him up, Martina had left some excess rope attached to his feet. He tucked in his knees, rolled to one side, and felt a length of rope about six feet long extending from his ankles. She had tied them with a secure knot, then added several loops that were bound more casually. If he could work loose the outer bindings, there might be enough rope to do some good.

  Perlmutter crawled away from the opening and felt around for a small rock. Instead, he found the edge of the gate. Jamming his feet against the edge, he pulled up on his legs, trying to catch the rope and its outer knot. He did it all by feel, as visibility in the tunnel was like working with a bag over his head. Over the next uncounted minutes, he repeated the move a dozen, maybe a hundred times, until his legs ached and his breath came in gasps. He finally felt a loose coil on top of his feet—and realized he’d done it. Kicking the rope away, he slithered back to the edge of the shaft. The big man pivoted his body and extended his legs—and the loose rope—over the edge, while anchored on firm ground by his immense mass.

  In the cavern below, Summer felt a shower of grit from above. She shined her light upward and saw Perlmutter’s portly calves and feet dangling over the side with a ten-foot length of rope swaying from his ankles.

  “Julien!” she shouted.

  He kicked his legs, which made the rope sway.

  Hawker came over and looked up the shaft. “It’s too far out of reach, I’m afraid.”

  “We might get to it if we can step up from our end,” Dirk said. “Major, can you give me a hand with that gun rack?”

  He led Hawker into the store room. They pulled the musket rack from the wall and carried it to the base of the shaft.

  Dirk shined his light at the dangling rope, trying to gauge its distance. “I might be able to reach it from the top of this thing.”

  “If you don’t break your neck in the process,” Hawker said, testing the fragile rack.

  They centered the rack under the rope, and Dirk climbed atop its narrow crown as Hawker held it secure. Summer reached up and held Dirk’s legs as he stood atop it, fighting for balance. He reached up, but the rope was still a foot or two out of reach.

  “Hold that rack tight, Major,” he said, then shouted upward. “Brace yourself, Julien. I’m coming your way.”

  He bent his knees and sprang off the rack, leaping for the end of the rope. Clasping it with an outstretched hand, he swung forward, then grabbed hold with his other hand.

  The sudden tug pulled Perlmutter toward the edge and the big man struggled to hold position. He grunted in pain as Dirk pulled himself hand over hand until getting his legs around the rope, then shinnied to the top.

  Dirk nearly slipped as he got himself over the edge. He rolled onto his back to catch his breath. “Maybe you and I should join the circus?” he said to Perlmutter between breaths.

  Hearing a muffled reply, Dirk pulled his flashlight from a back pocket and played its beam over the bound man. Starting with the gag, he quickly untied the assorted bindings.

  Perlmutter rubbed his ankles. “You about snapped my legs off.”

  “Sorry, I had to jump for it. Where’s Trehorne?” Dirk shined his light about the area.

  Perlmutter shook his head. “You heard the gunshot?”

  “Yes,” Dirk whispered. “Let’s get the others up.”

  He quickly spliced the ropes together and retied one end to the gate, then tossed it over the side. When Summer confirmed she had looped it around herself, the two men helped pull her up.

  Hawker was hoisted up a minute later. “What the devil went on up here?” he asked.

  “Our Russian friends paid us a visit,” Perlmutter said. “Afraid they got the jump on Charles and me.”

  “Mansfield? Here in Gibraltar?” Summer asked.

  “Yes, and the woman, too. They took Charles away . . .” He waved an arm at the tunnel passage and stepped in that direction. Moving warily, he led the trio around the bend, then hesitated at a snorting noise. “Quick, the light!”

  Summer passed him her flashlight and he shined it ahead. There was Trehorne, hog-tied on the ground but with no sign of blood.

  “Charles?” Perlmutter said.

  Trehorne’s eyes popped open and he blinked rapidly. “I must have slumbered off. Can you please take that blasted light out of my eyes?”

  Perlmutter and Summer ran over and untied him.

  “We thought they shot you,” Hawker said, helping him to his feet.

  “I feared as much, for a moment.” Trehorne rubbed his head. “The fool fired his gun right next to my ear. I can’t believe they tracked us in here.” He gave the others an apologetic look. “I’m afraid they took the Sentinel’s cargo letter. I had a copy in my pocket.”

  “They won’t get out of the country with it,” Hawker promised.

  “The letter doesn’t matter. They know everything we do now.”

  “And, so far, that hasn’t earned us any great benefit,” Perlmutter said, rubbing his wrists.

  “True,” Trehorne said, gazing down the dark tunnel. “What bothers me is what they know about the gold—that we don’t.”

  78

  Hawker found them at an outdoor Spanish café next to their hotel, licking their wounds with afternoon tapas and drinks. Perlmutter and Trehorne were on their third Scotch, while Dirk and Summer felt too defeated to move past a single sangria. Summer tried to lose herself in Trehorne’s Gibraltar guidebook, which she had picked up in the tunnel.

  “Some encouraging news,” Hawker said, pulling up a chair. “The Royal Gibraltar Police are now on the hunt for the two Russians. The airport and the commercial ship docks are on alert and every major hotel will be canvassed by evening. Gibraltar is not an easy place to hide. We’ll find them.”

  “Good of you to help, Major,” Perlmutter said, “but there’s little point in apprehending them now.”

  “After they assaulted you and Charles and tried to leave us all for dead?”

  “Julien’s right,” Trehorne said. “It was an unpleasant tussle, but, at the end of the day, no harm was done.” He stared at his half-empty glass, disillusionment in his eyes. “We came to Gibraltar to find the gold and beat them to it. It would seem there is no gold to be found.”

  “Still, it doesn’t make sense,” Dirk said. “There’s no evidence it was shipped to England or returned to the Russians.”

  “All we have to go on is Captain Marsh’s letter from the Sentinel.” Perlmutter looked at his Scotch. “We followed its lead, and there was nothing to show for it.”

  “But what if we looked in the wrong place?” Summer lowered the guidebook to reveal a hopeful smile.

  “What are you getting at?” Trehorne asked.

  “There’s a chapter in your book about historic caves of Gibraltar. It mentions one called La Bóveda—which was also known as Nelson’s Cave, for a time, in the nineteenth century.”

  “Nelson’s Cave, you say?” Perlmutter regained his booming voice.

  “Yes. The only problem is, the book says the cave was sealed up in 1888.”

  Hawker stared at the ground, searching his memory. “La Bóveda. That’s Spanish for The Vault. There must have been a church on the site, at one point. I’ve heard the name, but I can’t recall the location.”

  “The book says it was formerly accessed at Number 12, Lime Kiln Steps.”

  “That’s just a few blocks from here.” Hawker turned pale. “Oh, my. Number 12, Lime Kiln Steps. Oh, my.” He reached over and took a healthy slug of Trehorne’s Scotch.

  “What
’s come over you, Cecil?” Trehorne asked.

  “It all makes perfect sense. It’s my blunder, I’m afraid. My blunder.” He set down the glass with a quivering hand and stared, wide-eyed, at the group. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Where else would they have put it?”

  • • •

  MARTINA SAT on the second-story balcony of their rental flat, seeming to sun herself but in fact scrutinizing the pedestrian traffic on the street below. When she heard Mansfield complete a telephone conversation in the adjacent living room, she stepped inside and closed the balcony door. “Did you arrange for a boat to get us out of Gibraltar?”

  “Why, no.” He gave her a bemused look.

  “It is not safe. We should leave tonight.”

  “Leave?” He laughed. “Just as we struck gold?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The letter you took from the British historian.” He waved Trehorne’s copy. “It has the answer after all.”

  “But we were at the Nelson Tunnel. They said it was empty. Did they lie to us?”

  “No. The fools were pursuing the wrong clue. On a lark, I phoned your London banking friend to see if he had any contacts in Gibraltar. I read Bainbridge the letter and he said the answer was obvious.”

  “What was obvious?”

  “The storage. It was made at AEB Nelson. He didn’t know the Nelson reference but said the AEB could only be one place. The Anglo-Egyptian Bank.”

  “Only a banker would know that. What is this bank?”

  “It was a private British bank established in 1864 in Alexandria to fund trade with Egypt. It acted as the primary bank to the British authorities throughout the Mediterranean. A branch office was opened in Gibraltar in 1888.”

  “It must be long gone by now.”

  “Actually, no. The bank was acquired by Barclays in the 1920s and is still operating. The Gibraltar branch is even in the same location.”