He caught up with Bones and they swam side-by side, following the passageway as it curved to the right and angled downward, gradually narrowing. Bones fell back, letting Dane scout ahead. Just as the way was growing uncomfortably tight, they came to place where the main shaft continued forward, while a wide passageway branched off to the left and another, much narrower, broke off to the right. The first direction in the map had been “shaft south.” Dane checked the compass on his dive watch, and confirmed that the tunnel to the right would take them south.
This passageway, though narrower than he would have liked, was straight and its walls worn smooth, and they made good time as they penetrated its depths.
Dane’s confidence in the map’s directions grew as they came to a divide. One shaft led up and to the left, the other almost straight down.
Tunnel divides. Lower shaft, he thought as he took the lower passage. This tunnel corkscrewed at a dizzying rate before angling back up again. Now thoroughly confused, he checked his compass and confirmed they were once again heading east.
The first tunnel they passed branched off to their right, leading south. The next clue was “third tunnel north,” so they kept moving. It was odd, as the chamber they sought lay somewhere to the south. Dane was suddenly grateful they hadn’t stumbled across the entrance to this chamber on their own. Without the directions, they’d be lost, and who knew if more booby traps could be found in some of the other shafts?
Soon they came upon three tunnels in a row on the north side of the passageway, and Dane halted. Now they had a problem. Did the directions mean “take the third north-facing tunnel,” or did they mean “at the third tunnel, go north?” He looked at Bones, who shrugged, then pantomimed a coin toss. Dane grinned, motioned for Bones to stay back, turned, and moved to the third tunnel.
He inched forward, looking for anything that might indicate the presence of a trap. The walls here were irregular, and his light cast deep shadows on the pitted ceiling. He drifted forward, fingertips touching the bottom in case he had to arrest his forward motion on short notice.
He had gone no more than ten feet when he caught sight of a row of dark, jagged rocks looming up above like the teeth of a giant shark. The beam of his light flashed across them and he realized they were not stone at all, but rusted iron points like spear heads. He grabbed onto the nearest outcroppings and pushed, trying to shove himself out from under the spikes.
One of his handholds was solid, but the other gave way, rotating forward with an audible clack. He yanked his hands back and twisted as the iron spikes crashed down. One grazed his forearm, tearing his suit and slicing through flesh. He was scarcely aware of the pain. Instead, he was imagining what would have happened had he been even a moment slower in getting out of the way. Being pinned to the bottom of the tunnel for eternity was not his idea of fun.
He felt a hand on his ankle and looked back to see Bones behind him. He gave his friend a thumbs up and crooked his finger toward the second tunnel; the one he’d passed up. Bones nodded and retreated from the passageway.
Dane was about to follow when he had an idea. He took hold of the lever he had first mistaken for a stone, and pulled back on it. With a hollow grinding sound, the spikes slowly retracted into the ceiling. No need to narrow the choices for anyone who might follow behind.
The other tunnel, the one he’d bypassed, looped around and led south. This, Dane’s instincts told him, was the direction in which the passage lay. Minutes later, they emerged in an underground cavern. As they shone their lights around, his heart lurched.
This was no simple underwater cave— it was a chamber of some sort. The walls on either side were carved with scenes of knights in action, and the vaulted ceiling was supported by ornate columns. Dane had the feeling he’d seen carvings like this before, or, at least, carvings much like these.
Against the opposite wall, three steps led up to a small altar, behind which, six crosses in circles formed a larger cross on the wall itself.
Bones tapped him on the arm and directed his attention to the center of the floor. Bones’ light illuminated a great seal, ten feet across, showing a temple and encircled by the words “Cristi de Templo.” Now he understood.
The seal was one of the ancient symbols of the Knights Templar!
Bones shook his head, and Dane knew what his friend was trying to say: No freaking way!
Dane had to agree. He and Bones took out their digital underwater cameras and quickly took pictures of this strange room. As he worked, Dane could not help but wonder what was the purpose of this place? It was reminiscent of a traditional Templar church. Had it been a center of worship which had to be abandoned when it flooded? But that didn’t make sense. There was no evidence that the Templars had ever lived here. Why build a church on the other side of the Atlantic? And how did the Money Pit fit in?
And then it hit him. There was another direction they had yet to follow.
Upper shaft.
Amazing as it was, this chamber was not the end of the journey. But there were no shafts leading out, save for the one through which they’d entered. Where to go now? Beneath the seal? That wouldn’t make sense.
He took another look around, searching for a clue. He looked at the walls, the columns, the altar, the cross…
The cross!
The circles that formed it were very much like the stone seal that blocked the entrance to the secret passageway. Furthermore, it was laid out in exactly the same proportions as the Oak Island Cross! He signaled for Bones to follow and swam to the uppermost circle.
Bones clearly understood what Dane was thinking because he immediately set his fingers into the grooved edge of the cross and turned. The circle spun but, this time, did not come free. Instead, it rolled sideways into the wall, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.
Dane and Bones exchanged glances. He imagined they were thinking the same thing. What if it closes behind us… or on us? Nothing they could do about it. He shrugged and entered the tunnel.
There was no sign of them. Fisher cursed the minutes they had wasted getting prepped for the dive. Worse was Locke’s ire at Fisher letting someone slip past him and into the swamp. He knew it would do no good to point out that the sheriff had been guarding the swamp, with more of his own people anchored just offshore, so he held his tongue. The only thing that would make this right would be for him to find the intruder, or intruders, and take care of the situation.
He held his pneumatic speargun at the ready. Thirty centimeters long, it could be carried in a holster and fired double-barbed steel shafts with deadly power and accuracy at short range. It could not be purchased on the open market, for it was not made for fishing, but for killing. He swam with reckless abandon, eager to put his weapon to good use. Behind him, Baxter, Penn, and Hartley followed, all armed and ready.
They came to a place where the tunnel split into three. He made a quick signal and the divers fanned out. Hartley shot up the left passage. He was, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of their group. He was always spouting his theory that Francis Bacon was the true author of Shakespeare’s plays, and the proof lay hidden beneath Oak Island. Baxter, a tall, lean fellow took the narrow shaft in front of them, and Penn took the one on the right.
Hartley was the first to return, shaking his head and making a dismissive gesture. One dead end.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a dull rumble sounded from the passage in front of them, and a cloud of debris spewed forth. Fisher didn’t need to look in order to know what happened, but he had be sure.